IN  NEW  YORK 


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BOWED    WITH    A    GRACE    THAT    WAS    NOT    UNBECOMING." 


AN  AMERICAN 
IN  NEW  YORK 


A  Novel  of  Today 


OPIE  READ 

Author  of  "A  Kentucky  Colonel,"  "The  Starbucks, 
"The  Jucklins,"  S*c.,  &»c. 


EMLEN  McCONNELL  AND  HOWARD  HEATH 


1905 
THOMPSON  &  THOMAS 

CHICAGO 


Copyright,    1904 

BY 

THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


DEDICATION. 

To  George  W.  Clawson,  of  St.  Louis — hon 
est,  adventurous ;  a  man  with  a  keen  mind  and 
without  fear — to  him,  a  typical  American,  I 
affectionately  dedicate  this  book. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


Contents. 


CHAPTER  I.                           Page. 
The   Waldorf   Hotel    17 

CHAPTER  II. 

The    Colonel    has    Something    to    Say    on    Political 
Economy    30 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Colonel  Moralizes  over  the  Great  Human  Tide.  41 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  American  Tells  the  Story  of  Minnie  Watkins.  58 

CHAPTER  V. 
The    Widow    76 

CHAPTER  VI. 
At   the    Grand    Opera 86 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Sammy    97 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Girl  who  Talked  Blossoms 109 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Self-possessed,  but  Whirled  Away 125 

CHAPTER  X. 
At   the   Window    141 

CHAPTER  XL 
Mr.    Joseph    Aukwall    Skidder 151 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Money's  Blizzard   169 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Sim  Groggin   182 


Contents. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Night   Lamps    in    Her    Eyes 195 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A    Project    Forming    203 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
At   Benjamin    Franklin's   Tomb 213 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Read  All  the  Time 229 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Brought  Him  a  Note 241 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Under  Way 250 

CHAPTER  XX. 
The  Press  Agent  259 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Miss  Baith  270 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Not  a  Word  About  Her 280 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Coming  of  the  Hour 293 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Didn't  Want  to  be  Congratulated 305 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
New  York's  Opinion  318 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
In  the  Sixteenth  Century  Room 33° 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Conclusion  343 


Illustrations. 


"  Bowed   with  a   grace   that   was  not  unbecoming." 

Frontispiece 

"  In  future  when  you  hear  me  laugh,  take  to  your 

heels "  19 

"  I  shall  not  forget  the  smile  on  the  face  of  a  brute, 

sitting  at  a  table "  26 

"  Will  size  you  up  as  a  cheap  man  " 31 

"  Been  a  widow  long,  Ma'am  ?  " 79 

"  He's  worth  more  than  all  the  money  in  the  world  "  227 

"  Throw  "  341 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  It's  your  old  voice,  Blandin — Jim 

— your  old  voice    351 


An  American  in  New  York. 


An  American  in  New  York, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  WALDORF  HOTEL. 

Along  with  the  education  of  the  past  he 
had  a  shrewd  eye  for  the  present,  and  he 
called  himself  an  American  in  New  York.  In 
the  great  Waldorf  Hotel,  where  the  lamps 
burn  at  midday  as  at  midnight,  he  was  uncon 
sciously  conspicuous  as  slowly  he  strode  down 
the  corridor  known  as  Millionaire  Lane, 
where,  in  the  evening,  were  gathered  the 
wealthier  members  of  the  Stock  Exchange, 
speculation  polite  in  full  dress,  with  many  a 
bow  and  sallow  smile,  but  just  as  heartless 
and  as  replete  with  human  greed  as  when  on 
the  "floor"  in  Wall  Street,  beneath  the  cold 
eye  of  the  gray-bearded  old  chairman  sitting 
high  in  his  marble  balcony. 

Every  one  turned  to  look  at  the  tall,  middle- 
aged  American,  so  expressive  of  a  quiet  home 
somewhere  remote  from  the  politer  forms  of 
throat-cutting,  and  so  different  was  he  from 
the  average  man,  so  pronounced  a  physical 


An  American  in  New  York 

reminiscence  of  the  considerate  past  in  this 
swiftly-gestured  present,  that  the  elegant  idlers 
seated  along  the  alabaster  wall  regarded  him 
in  the  light  of  an  amusing  discovery. 

A  student  of  the  English  classics  would  not 
have  strained  much  to  pronounce  him  a  latter- 
day  Sir  Roger,  marveling  and  moralizing  in 
the  great  city.  Some  one  had  heard  him  say 
to  a  bell-boy  that  he  lived  out  in  America  and 
that  this  was  his  first  trip  abroad. 

In  the  Waldorf  not  all,  however,  was  the 
bead  on  the  froth  of  aimless  life,  for  here 
where  local  fashion  and  foreign  decoration  pa 
raded,  admired  of  the  imitative  and  the 
thoughtless,  were  also  gathered  the  bone  of 
gigantic  industry  and  the  muscle  of  fearless 
adventure,  organizers  of  mighty  corporations, 
and  travelers  who  from  the  backs  of  trumpet 
ing  elephants  had  fought  the  striped  terror  of 
the  jungle.  From  Arizona  and  from  Mexico 
had  come  men  with  mining  stocks,  financial 
carpet-baggers,  for  in  many  a  gripsack  was 
there  a  gold  brick  wrapped  in  convincing  silk. 
It  was  a  world  within  itself,  the  Waldorf  Ho 
tel,  a  world  of  apparent  opulence,  for  obvious 
poverty  did  not  peep  in  at  the  door. 

Off  from  the  gay  halls  was  a  Turkish  smok- 
18 


IN    FUTURE   WHEN    YOU    HEAR    ME    LAUGH,   TAKE   TO  YOUR 
HEELS." 


An  American  in  New  York 

ing-room.  Here  nicotine  broke  through  con 
vention.  Stranger  struck  match  for  stranger 
and  handed  it  to  him.  This  meant,  "You 
may  ask  me  about  the  stock  market  and  I  will 
genially  mislead  you."  In  this  place,  a  twi 
light  amid  rich  hangings,  the  American  soon 
established  himself,  the  centre  of  a  social  com 
monwealth.  Early  in  his  career  as  a  member 
of  this  colony  he  laughed  with  an  outburst  so 
loud  that  a  London  porter,  passing  through 
the  room,  halted  and  stared  at  him. 

"How  much  was  that  worth?"  the  Ameri 
can  inquired.  The  flunky  begged  "pairdon.'' 
"I  want  to  know  how  much  that  laugh  is 
likely  to  have  damaged  you — the  hearing  of 
it?  But  I  want  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  along  with 
my  other  baggage,  I've  brought  with  me  a  few 
of  my  natural  habits."  Then  a  considerate 
thought  struck  him.  "But  I  reckon  you've  got 
your  own  habits,  too.  Here's  fifty  cents,  and  in 
future,  when  you  hear  me  laugh,  take  to  your 
heels." 

"I  will  do  so,  sir,"  said  the  porter,  pocket 
ing  the  fifty  cents  without  the  suggestion  of  a 
smile ;  and  ever  afterward  he  kept  his  word. 

It  was  a  matter  of  recognized  necessity  to 
call  the  American  Colonel.  He  soon  became 

19 


An  American  in  New  York 

a  sort  of  favorite  with  ladies.  They  liked 
to  listen  to  his  stories,  and  be  it  known  that, 
with  two  continents  striving  to  minister  to 
her  whims,  the  average  woman  is  more  nearly 
natural  than  the  average  man.  They  all  of 
them  scream  when  they  encounter  a  mouse, 
the  farce-comedies  tell  us,  and  their  comments 
upon  the  appearance  of  a  grizzly  bear  are  al 
most  uniformly  the  same.  The  American 
was  to  them  a  sort  of  grizzly  bear,  captured 
a  long  time  ago  but  in  a  softened  way  retain 
ing  all  of  the  most  interesting  of  his  wild  and 
mountainous  manners. 

uWhy  do  you  call  yourself  an  American  in 
New  York?"  inquired  Mrs.  Flashroll,  wife  of 
Judge  Flashroll,  who  with  much  nipping  and 
a  great  deal  of  tucking  managed  to  live  for 
a  few  months  of  the  year  at  the  Waldorf. 

"Because,  madam,  I  have  lived  nearly  all 
over  America,  and  this  is  the  only  town  that 
puts  me  in  mind  of  a  country  I  have  never 
seen.  Why,  the  other  day  I  was  near  the 
mountain  range  where  Nassau  trails  into 
Broad  street,  and  I  saw  an  American  flag  float 
ing  from  the  top  of  an  ancient  building.  I 
have  heard  men  say  how  the  old  flag,  seen  sud 
denly  in  foreign  ports,  made  them  feel,  and  it 
20 


An  American  in  New  York 

wasn't  hard  to  persuade  myself  that  I  felt  just 
about  that  way.  So  in  I  goes  to  offer  my  con 
gratulations,  and  I  asked  if  the  American  con 
sul  was  in.  The  fellow  that  I  spoke  to  pretend 
ed  not  to  understand.  'The  American  consul  ?' 
said  he.  'Why,  we  have  no  American  consul 
here.'  'Is  that  a  fact?'  I  replied.  'Then  i'gad, 
I'm  farther  away  from  home  than  I  thought 
I  was.'  " 

The  men  winked  and  the  women  smiled. 
4 'We  never  know  when  you  are — are — well, 
guying  us,"  said  Mrs.  Flashroll. 

The  American  arose  and  bowed.  "Ma 
dam,"  said  he,  "I  never  guy  a  lady." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here,  Colonel?" 

"Madam,  when  a  man  is  abroad  he  doesn't 
somehow  have  a  very  good  hold  on  time.  It 
may  seem  longer  or  shorter  than  it  is.  I  will 
remark,  however,  that  I  am  here  on  my  wed 
ding  journey." 

"Your  wedding  journey!  Why,  where  is 
your  wife?" 

"Well,  that  is  to  be  explained.  Years  ago, 
when  I  married,  I  was  too  low  in  the  financial 
scale  to  think  of  a  bridal  tour,  but  my  wife  was 
broad-minded  and  did  not  complain.  How 
ever,  we  didn't  forget  it;  no,  madam,  we  kept 
21 


An  American  in  New  York 

it  endearingly  in  mind,  hoping  and  working 
for  the  time  when  we  should  be  able  to  stand 
the  expense  of  such  a  trip.  Well,  the  time 
came  at  last,  a  week  or  so  ago.  The  children 
were  settled  and  I  had  made  rather  an  ad 
vantageous  sale  of  property,  so  I  says,  'Moth 
er,  get  your  things  ready  and  we'll  take  that 
bridal  tour.'  'Where  to?'  she  asks,  and  I 
scratched  my  head.  'Well,  say  New  York,' 
but  she  shakes  her  head.  'No,  don't  care  to 
go  there;  don't  know  anybody,  and  I  have 
heard  that  they  ain't  at  all  sociable.  Mrs. 
Vance,  over  at  Deerlick,  was  there  two 
months,  a-visiting  her  son,  and  didn't  get  ac 
quainted  with  anybody  to  speak  of,  nor  to 
speak  to,  for  that  matter.  I  believe  I'd  rather 
go  back  to  Mount  Sterling,  Kentucky,  where 
I  was  raised.'  So,  madam,  we  agreed  that  she 
should  go  there  and  I  should  come  here,  but 
have  it  understood  that  we  both  were  on  our 
wedding  tours." 

A  smile  went  around.  The  woman  asked 
him  if  he  were  a  Southerner,  a  soothing  flat 
tery  to  one  born  in  the  South,  and  he  answered 
that  he  was,  originally,  having  been  born  in 
Kentucky;  "and  while,"  said  he,  "I  continue 
to  have  been  born  in  that  State,  yet  I  have 

22 


An  American  in  New  York 

lived  nearly  everywhere  in  America  and  re 
gard  myself  in  the  light  of  a  nationalist." 
"But  you  don't  like  New  York." 
He  gave  her  what  in  a  poker  game  would 
have  looked  like  the  propitiating  smile  of  a 
winner.     "Ah,  madam,  that's  where  you  mis 
judge  me.    It  is  not  for  me  to  dislike  any  part 
of  the  Master's  footstool,  but  I  don't  know 
that  I  am  commanded  not  to  criticise  one  or 
more  of  the  legs  on  which  the  stool  stands. 
There  are  many  things  here  that  are  most  un- 
American  to  me — not  a  want  of  politeness,  I 
assure  you,  for  that  is  as  often  characteristic 
of  an  ignoramus  as  of  a  statesman,  but  a  cer 
tain  and  I  might  say  a  most  pronounced  and 
eager  strife  to  get  away  from  the  democratic 
customs  of  our  fathers.   But  I  am  not  one  who 
believes  that  the  world  is  growing  worse  or 
that  the  young  man  of  to-day  is  not  of  as  good 
fibre  as  I  was  at  his  age.    The  fact  is  that  the 
youngster  of  to-day  knows  about  twice  as  much 
as  I  did,  but  this  young  fellow,  contrary  to 
the  opinion  hemmed  in  on  this  narrow  island, 
is  not  wholly  nor  in  large  part  confined  to  the 
city  of  New  York.     Six  weeks  west  of  Man 
hattan  teach  him  more  than  six  years  do  here. 
All  that  is  necessary  in  this  life  is  not  to  com- 

23 


An  American  in  New  York 

mit  Broadway  to  memory  from  one  end  to 
the  other.  A  man  may  do  that  and  still  miss 
nearly  all  the  immortal  beauties  of  Shakes 
peare.  And  that  reminds  me.  I  came  here 
expecting  to  see  Shakespeare  played,  but  am 
told  that  they  have  sent  him  back  to  the  coun 
try  where  they  say  he  belongs.  Writers  that 
never  saw  a  wild  tree" — by  which  he  meant  a 
tree  not  confined  in  a  tub  or  nurtured  in  a 
park — "find  fault  with  his  shrubbery,  madam. 
They  say  he  was  rude  in  speech,  and  so  was 
old  Jeremiah,  but  i'gad,  they  haven't  beat  him 
very  far  yet.  But  I  reckon  that  man  and  wo 
man,  not  only  in  New  York  but  in  nearly  all 
parts  of  the  country,  have  become  too  busy  to 
listen  to  wisdom." 

"Speaking  again  of  the  drama  in  New 
York,"  he  said,  "I  am  forced  to  announce  the 
fact  that  there  isn't  any  drama  here.  The 
whole  thing  is  a  tune  and  a  jig.  You  are  pass 
ing  through  what  might  be  called  the  night 
sweats  of  the  drama.  Dignity  has  turned 
loose,  sir,  to  dance  a  breakdown.  The  worse 
the  show  is  the  better  you  are  pleased.  If  a 
fellow  comes  along  with  a  new  sort  of  flip- 
flap  he  is  a  hero.  Your  rhyme  is  kidney-footed 
and  your  dancing  is  vulgar.  A  pair  of  black- 

24 


An  American  in  New  York 

ened  eyes  and  a  mouth  made  at  the  audience 
take  the  place  of  dramatic  action.     In  your 
tastes  you  haven't  the  excuse  of  a  couple  of 
fellows  I  saw  one  night  standing  before  the 
opera  house  in  Little  Rock,  Arkansas.  A  bill 
announced  that  John  MacCullough  was  play 
ing  Virginius.    These  two  fellows  halted  and 
looked  up  the  stairway.     'Why,  Bill,  here's  a 
show.'     'Ah,  hah,  but  what  sort  of  a  show  is 
it  ?    Want  to  go  up  ?'    The  other  fellow  stared 
at  the  bill.    'Let's  see  if  we  can  make  out  what 
it  means.     Sleight  o'  hand,  I  reckon.     Seen  a 
man  at  a  schoolhouse  t'other  night,  out  our 
way,  that  I'll  bet  can  swallow  two  knives  to 
his  one.    We've  seen  all  he  can  do.    Thar's  a 
sick  hoss  at  the  wagon  yard.    Let's  go  round 
thar.'    Those  fellows  had  something  to  keep 
them  away  from  the  real  drama,  for  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  out  where  they  lived  a  sick  horse 
meant  a  good  deal.     But  here  a  sick  poodle 
would  serve.    Of  course,  in  my  country,  Amer 
ica,  I  mean,  from  a  time  almost  ancient  we 
have  looked  to  New  York  for  the  stamp  of 
her  approval;  but  either  one  of  two  things 
must  happen  if  this  continues;  we've  got  to 
lose  our  recollection  of  what  is  good  or  New 
York  must  revise  her  judgment." 

25 


An  American  in  New  York 

"I  suppose,"  mischievously  remarked  one 
of  the  ladies,  "that,  after  the  manner  of 
the  early  English,  you  would  keep  women  off 
the  stage  altogether." 

"Oh,  no,  madam.  If  the  drama  at  the 
present  time  showed  any  signs  of  preservation 
I  should  say  that  it  was  largely  due  to  woman. 
Woman  is  as  a  general  thing  more  convincing 
than  man,  and  without  delicious  illusion  the 
play  is  but  impotent  talk.  An  instance: 
Rather  late  last  night  I  dropped  into  a  Broad 
way  restaurant.  There  were  but  few  custom 
ers,  rendering  it  easy  to  pick  out  personages 
whom  I  thought  worthy  of  study — a  habit  of 
mine,  sir/'  and  he  nodded  at  a  man  who  had 
just  drawn  up  to  join  the  listeners.  "And  I 
noticed  particularly  a  gentleman  and  a  lady 
sitting  at  a  table  not  far  away.  But  would 
you  believe  it,  while  I  was  looking  a  quarrel 
arose  between  them?  It  did,  and  the  man, 
in  a  most  undignified  and,  I  might  say,  un- 
gentlemanly,  manner,  arose,  snatched  up  his 
gloves  which  lay  beside  a  plate,  and  in  a  huff 
departed.  The  lady  was  much  embarrassed, 
I  assure  you,  and  I  saw  clearly  that  she  didn't 
know  what  to  do ;  and  I  should  have  hastened 
to  minister  to  her  in  this,  the  hour  of  her  dis- 
26 


I    SHALL    NOT    FORGET   THE    SMILE  ON  THE    FACE    OF   A  BRUTE, 
SITTING    AT   A   TABLE." 


An  American  in  New  York 

tress,  had  I  possessed  the  honor  of   her   ac 
quaintance." 

"What  did  you  do,  Colonel  ?" 
The  question  was  asked  by  a  woman. 
"Madam,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have 
done  had  not  something  happened  at  the  crit 
ical  moment.  She  came  over  and  spoke  to 
me.  First  let  me  note  her  appearance.  I  re 
call  in  a  poem  somewhere — 'And  her  eye  was 
of  that  tinge  of  the  sky  when  the  trout  leaps 
quickest  to  catch  the  fly.'  That  was  her  eye — 
blue  as  the  sky  that  must  lie  beyond  our  vision ; 
and  her  hair  was  black,  a  rain-cloud  shredded 
and  silkened,  and  her  voice  as  she  spoke  with 
sweet  hesitation  was  almost  hushed  in  its  own 
trembling  melody.  'Sir,'  she  said — and  I  was 
on  my  feet  in  a  moment,  I  assure  you — 'sir, 
will  you  be  kind  enough  to  see  me  to  my  car 
riage?'  Would  I?  Her  chariot  was  waiting 
just  without,  I  gathered  from  a  few  notes  of 
stray  music  which  she  dropped,  and  she  wanted 
no  aid  except  to  be  seen  to  it ;  she  had  her  own 
purse,  she  somehow  told  me,  swinging  it  by 
a  golden  chain.  The  unfortunate  quarrel 
with  her — but  no  matter,  the  carriage  was 
waiting  and  she  would  go  home  alone.  I 
bowed,  gave  her  my  arm  and  we  walked  out, 

27 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  I  shall  not  forget  the  smile  on  the  face 
of  a  brute  sitting  at  a  table.  Well,  the  car 
riage  stood  at  the  curb,  just  a  little  ways  up 
the  street.  The  driver  opened  the  door  and 
she  got  in.  'Oh,  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you/ 
she  said  with  a  little  whimper  as  sweet  as  the 
gurgle  of  June  water.  'I  really  don't  know 
what  I  should  have  done  without  you.  James, 
you  may  drive  to — Wait  a  moment.  Oh,  yes, 
give  me  my  purse,  please.'  The  latter  remark 
was  directed  to  me.  'Your  purse?  I  haven't 
it.' 

!<  'Oh,  yes,  I  gave  it  to  you.' 
1  'I  beg  your  pardon,  but  you    are    mis 
taken.' 

"  'Oh,  no,  I'm  not.  Don't  trifle  with  me 
when  I  placed  so  much  confidence  in  you. 
Give  me  my  purse,  please.' 

"And  then  the  cabman  spoke  up :  'Give  the 
dame  her  pocketbook  or  I'll  call  the  cop.' 

"There  was  a  fine  predicament  for  an  Amer 
ican  away  from  his  friends.  Swearing  upon 
my  honor  would  have  availed  nothing." 

"But  what  did  you  do,  Colonel?" 

"  'I  beg  your  pardon,  here  it  is,'  I  said,  and 
I  took  out  my  own  pocketbook  and  handed  it 
28 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  her,  and  snatching  it  eagerly  she  fell  back 
into  the  carriage  and  was  driven  away." 

"Your  own  pocketbook!  And  was  there 
anything  in  it?" 

"Madam,  it  was  stuffed  full — of  pieces  of 
goods  that  my  wife  had  given  me  to  match. 
Ah,  she  was  convincing,  and  i'gad,  she  saved 
me  a  world  of  trouble." 


29 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  1 1. 

THE    COLONEL    HAS    SOMETHING   TO    SAY   ON 
POLITICAL  ECONOMY. 

With  the  usual  circle  about  him,  in  the  Wal 
dorf,  the  American  in  New  York  was  telling 
an  East  Indian  tiger-hunter  of  the  dangers  of 
hunting  the  grizzly  bear.  The  trouble  was 
that  the  grizzly  didn't  know  when  he  was 
dead;  and  even  after  the  "inquest,"  he  was 
likely  to  arise  and  assume  new  license  for  un 
warranted  depredation.  The  tiger-hunter,  an 
English  gentleman,  blinked  his  eyes  as  if  into 
them  had  been  blown  a  sudden  sand  gust 
from  the  desert.  He  said  that  he  didn't  quite 
gather.  He  had  heard  that  the  grizzly  bear 
was  whimsical,  indeed  petulant,  but  in  blood- 
thirstiness  could  not  be  compared  with  the 
tiger. 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  "the  grizzly  kills 
a  man,  and  to  go  beyond  that  point  is  some 
what  of  an  unnatural  strain." 

"Ah,"  the  Englishman  replied,  "but  that  is 
precisely  what  the  tiger  does.  He  eats  his 
victim." 


WILL    SIZE    YOU    UP    AS    A    CHEAP    MAN. 


An  American  in  New  York 

"A  mere  matter  of  taste,"  said  the  Ameri 
can.  "I  mean,  you  understand,  as  to  whether 
or  not  it  is  worse  than  to  be  crushed  out  of  all 
semblance  of  a  man  and  left  to  serve  as  a  shock 
to  your  friends.  Of  course,  I  can't  speak  from 
experience  or  even  from  credible  hearsay,  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  after  life  is  extinct  I'd  as 
soon  go  bounding  through  the  jungle  in  the 
close  corporation  of  a  tiger's  digestive  society 
as  to  be  spread  out  thin  on  the  mountainside, 
to  serve  as  food  for  the  ungallant  and  coward 
ly  buzzard,  sir." 

The  Englishman  arose,  hooked  himself  to 
gether  and  strode  off,  remarking  to  some  one 
that  the  Colonel  might  well  call  himself  an 
American,  for  it  was  impossible  to  get  any 
information  out  of  him.  In  the  meantime  the 
American  had  turned  about  to  comment  on  a 
phase  of  life  in  New  York.  "I  notice,"  said 
he,  "that  of  an  evening  the  women  are  drink 
ing  wine  and  the  men  are  shuddering  over 
water  as  they  sit  together  in  the  cafes.  If  you 
take  a  lady  to  supper  you  must  buy  wine  for 
her,  or  the  waiter  will  size  you  as  a  cheap 
man.  And  in  a  community  where  fighting  is 
regarded  as  impolite,  not  to  say  immodest,  this 
is  uncomfortable.  You  people  may  be  accus- 

31 


An  American  in  New  York 

tomed  to  it,  but  I  don't  like  the  cockney  grunt 
of  contempt.  It  strikes  me  that  our  Consti 
tution  was  framed  to  relieve  us  of  that  sort 
of  thing.  The  tipping,  or  rather  petty  brib 
ing,  system  has  sifted  out  into  America,  but 
here  in  New  York  it  seems  to  have  reached 
its  climax.  And  you  must  not  only  hire  the 
waiter  to  say  'thank  you,'  but  must  buy  wine 
to  maintain  a  place  in  his  good  opinion.  It's 
well  enough  to  talk  of  independence  and  to 
swear  you  won't  do  it;  you  will.  There  is 
nothing  so  tireless  as  insolence,  and  they  will 
finally  wear  you  out,  those  cockneys;  and  you 
are  then  willing  to  buy  freedom  from  that 
grunt  and  that  buttermilk  eye.  They  have 
ruined  the  nigger,  sir.  Of  course,  it  has  al 
ways  been  the  darky's  game  to  play  the  polite 
and  attentive  for  a  tip,  but  they  have  made 
him  insulting  and  imperative  in  his  demand. 
And  if  you  don't  give  him  at  least  as  much  as 
ten  per  cent  of  the  amount  of  your  order  he 
gives  you  the  cockney  stare.  I'll  be  hanged 
if  one  of  them  didn't  turn  my  overcoat  and 
put  it  on  me  wrong  side  out." 

"What  did  you  do?"  one  of  the  ladies  in 
quired. 

"Do,  madam?     I  didn't  know  it  until  I 

32 


An  American  in  New  York 

was  shouted  at  in  the  street.  I  thought  I  was 
about  to  get  run  over  and  I  jumped.  Then  a 
policeman  came  up  and  said:  'If  you  don't 
turn  that  coat  right  and  sober  up  a  little  I'll 
run  you  in  for  drunkenness.'  And  realizing 
my  plight,  I  explained,  and  what  did  the 
scoundrel  do  but  laugh  at  me.  I  looked  at  my 
watch  and  found  that  it  was  then  too  late  to 
go  back  to  the  restaurant  and  kill  the  brute." 

The  American  bowed  himself  out,  and  noth 
ing  more  was  seen  of  him  until  late  in  the 
evening,  when  he  came  into  the  Turkish  room. 
In  a  flutter  the  ladies  made  a  place  for  him, 
and  he  declared  that  they  had  done  him  proud. 

"I  think,"  said  he,  as  he  sat  down,  uthat  I 
have  passed  a  profitable  day,  not  more  so  for 
myself  than  for  the  people  in  my  country, 
whom  I  shall  tell  something  of  what  I  saw.  I 
was  out  at  Ellis  Island,  the  place  where  the 
immigrants  land,  and  I  must  say  that  I  was 
profoundly  and  not  altogether  pleasantly  im 
pressed.  Ladies,  economics  perhaps  do  not 
interest  you,  that  is,  at  present;  but  some  of 
you  may  move  out  to  Colorado  or  to  other 
States  where  the  right  of  suffrage  has  been  ex 
tended  to  your  sex.  And  I  wish  to  remark 
that  every  citizen  in  this  country  should  be 

33 


An  American  in  New  York 

interested  in  Ellis  Island.  Once  in  a  while 
the  newspapers  mention  it;  we  are  told  that 
so  many  thousands  landed  this  year  or  last 
year;  and,  occasionally,  some  Congressman, 
with  an  eye  to  the  future,  tells  of  the  continu 
ous  inflow.  But  I  wanted  to  see  for  myself, 
and  I  did.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I  ever 
contemplated  the  rawest  material  of  which 
citizens  are  made,  and  I  was  not  inspired  with 
veneration  for  the  statesmanship  of  forefath 
ers  who  were  so  eager  for  increase  in  the 
young  republic's  inhabitants  as  to  hold  out  an 
invitation  not  only  to  the  oppressed  but  to 
the  scum  of  the  earth.  A  nation  is  but  a  fam 
ily,  and  who  would  think  of  inviting  into  his 
household  a  degenerate  and  a  fugitive  from 
the  justice  of  an  older  association?" 

"But  we  should  not  shut  our  doors  upon  the 
needy  and  the  suffering,"  spoke  up  a  local 
politician. 

"No,  not  upon  the  suffering — not  surely 
upon  those  whose  minds  have  been  caged;  but 
why  should  we  be  a  hospital  or  at  least  an 
asylum  for  the  pauper?  It  would  be  as  wise 
to  empty  foreign  prisons  into  this  country's  lap 
as  to  make  voters  of  such  material.  This  is 
as  well  known  to  the  average  politician  as 

34 


An  American  in  New  York 

ballot-box  stuffing  was  to  the  carpet-bagger, 
but  the  average  politician  is  a  moral  coward. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"Oh,  go  ahead,  Colonel,  and  if  you  tell  the 
truth  about  me,  I'll  grin  and  bear  it,"  replied 
the  politician. 

"Sir,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  Colonel,  and 
thus  he  continued:  "Shutting  his  eyes,  the 
politician  falls  off  into  an  oratorical  swoon 
over  the  liberties  granted  by  our  glorious  Con 
stitution.  To  lubricate  his  joints  anent  the 
race  for  office  he  would  stew  the  grease  out 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  He 
would  pluck  the  tail-feathers  from  the  bird  of 
freedom  and  stick  them  into  the  grimy  hats 
of  the  newly  naturalized.  Out  in  a  town 
where  I  lived,  sir,  they  naturalized  two  thou 
sand  in  one  day." 

"Is  that  a  fact?     And  what  came  of  it?" 

"What  came  of  it?  Confound  them,  they 
beat  me  for  mayor,  sir." 

"Ah,  that  was  bad.  But  go  ahead.  We  are 
getting  information." 

"I  thank  you,  sir.  As  this  is  a  gateway  to 
America,  every  American  ought  to  visit  Ellis 
Island.  It  would  give  him  a  new  view  of  the 
evil  chances  taken  in  our  constant  effort  to  as- 

35 


An  American  in  New  York 

similate  some  of  the  worst  elements  of  the  hu 
man  family.  Statistics  of  immigration  are 
sometimes  quoted  as  an  evidence  of  prosperity. 
But  there  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  in 
flux  of  honest  blood  and  the  inoculation  of 
criminal  pauperism.  FalstafFs  recruits,  with 
only  a  shirt  and  a  half  to  a  company,  could 
boast  of  a  complete  wardrobe  compared  with 
some  of  the  European  outcasts  that  expect  to 
be  turned  loose  upon  the  shores  of  America. 
A  few  dollars  in  hand  should  not  be  set  up 
as  the  gauge  of  admission.  Money  can  be 
stolen,  you  know,  and  to  a  thief  we  might  be 
offering  the  premium  of  citizenship.  The 
psychologist  should  be  present  and  the  sci 
entist  ought  to  pass  upon  the  quality  of  the 
candidate.  Lax  laws  are  criminal,  and  the 
future  will  hold  us  responsible  for  our  loose 
ness.  I  am  told  by  the  officials  that  some 
times  out  of  the  thousands  of  immigrants  that 
land  in  a  day  at  least  one-half  of  the  number 
are  but  adventurers  who  have  no  thought  of 
remaining  here.  To  their  nature  material 
production  is  more  foreign  than  the  shores 
they  are  about  to  pollute,  and  after  an  illegit 
imate  levy  upon  the  public  they  return  to  their 
former  homes  to  spread  the  report  of  the  ease 

36 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  freedom  granted  to  them  in  America.  Sir, 
the  negro  problem  in  the  South  may  be  serious, 
but  let  the  East  look  to  Ellis  Island." 

"If  you  gentlemen  are  going  to  get  into 
a  political  quarrel  it  is  time  for  us  to  go,"  said 
one  of  the  ladies,  and  the  Colonel  arose  with 
a  bow.  "Madam,  we  are  talking  like  broth 
ers.  You  simply  have  misunderstood  us.  Sit 
down  and  let  me  tell  you  of  the  one  time  in 
my  life  when  I  held  office."  She  smiled  and 
sat  down,  and  the  Colonel  continued,  after 
warmly  shaking  hands  with  the  local  politi 


cian: 

u 


It  was  in  a  rural  community  of  the  South 
that  I  was  elected  to  the  office  of  justice  of 
the  peace.  I  was  not  graced  with  any  too 
much  law,  but  I  thought  I  knew  what  justice 
was,  a  fact  proved  by  my  first  decision.  One 
day  a  negro  appeared  and  said  that  he  wanted 
to  bring  suit  for  ten  dollars  against  my  old 
friend  Jim  Gordon,  a  planter  who  lived  not 
far  away.  The  plaintiff  said  that  he  didn't 
need  a  lawyer,  that  he  was  willing  to  leave  it 
to  me ;  so  I  sent  for  Jim  and  he  came  over,  as 
mad  as  a  hornet  he  was,  too,  when  he  found 
that  he  had  been  sued.  'Why,  confound  that 
nigger,  I  don't  owe  him  a  cent  and  never  did,' 

37 


An  American  in  New  York 

said  he.  But  I  told  him  that  justice  was  jus 
tice  and  therefore  I  must  hear  the  nigger's 
story.  'It  wuz  disser  way,'  said  he.  'It  wuz  a 
cold  day,  not  long  ago,  an'  I  wuz  er  settin'  on 
a  stump  down  by  de  ribber,  an'  ez  I  looked 
at  de  skim  o'  ice  along  de  sho'  I  'lows  ter  mer- 
se'f  dat  I  wuz  monstus  glad  I  didn't  hatter  git 
in  dat  water.  'Bout  dat  time  yere  come  Mr. 
Gordon.  He  didn't  say  nuthin'  till  he  dun  set 
down  on  ernuder  stump  clost  by  me,  an'  den 
he  take  out  er  twenty-fi'-cent  piece,  an'  den  he 
'low  dat  ober  at  de  sto'  dey  had  jest  got  in 
some  licker,  two  drinks  fur  er  quarter,  dat 
would  make  a  man  smack  his  mouf  all  day.  I 
to!'  him  I'd  like  mighty  well  ter  hab  at  leas' 
one  o'  dem  lickers  but  didn't  'sess  de  quarter. 
He  'lowed  dat  wuz  bad  an'  I  'grees  wid  him. 
Den  he  looks  at  de  quarter  in  his  han'  an'  says 
he  doan  want  it  no  longer  an'  flings  it  in  de 
ribber.  I  didn't  want  ter  git  in  dat  col'  water. 
He  oughter  knowed  dat  fack,  but  in  he  flung 
it,  an'  wid  de  taste  o'  dat  licker  already  in  my 
mouf  I  jumps  in,  an'  I  grabbles  round  till  up  I 
comes  wid  er  han'ful  o'mud  an'  in  de  mud  wuz 
de  twenty-fi*  cents.  I  washes  my  han'  an'  de 
money  an'  strikes  er  trot  fur  de  sto'.  I  axed 

38 


An  American  in  New  York 

de  man  'hind  de  counter  an'  he  say  de  licker 
wuz  dar,  an'  I  set  my  motif  fur  two  drinks  an' 
tol'  him  to  fetch  'em  out.  Den  I  put  my 
money  on  de  counter,  'fo'  I  got  de  licker,  an' 
de  man  he  tuck  up  de  quarter,  he  did,  sorter 
looked  at  it  an'  flung  it  back  ter  me  wid  de 
'nouncement  dat  it  wuz  counterfeit.  An'  so 
it  wuz,  Jedge.  Wall,  suh,  de  disserp'intment 
tergeder  wid  de  col'  water  makes  me  sick,  an'  I 
wuz  in  bed  two  weeks  an'  lost  at  least  ten  dol 
lars,  an'  I  now  hoi's  dat  dis  yere  Mr.  Gordon 
he  owe  it  ter  me.' 

"Then  Gordon  spoke  up.  'Judge,'  said  he, 
'I  hold  that  a  man  has  a  right  to  throw  a  piece 
of  pewter  into  the  river  whenever  he  has  a 
mind  to.  So,  I  don't  owe  him  any  money/ 
He  was  my  friend,  Jim  Gordon  was,  but,  as  I 
said  before,  justice  was  justice.  'Sir,'  said  I, 
'you  undoubtedly  have  a  right  to  throw  pewter 
into  the  river,  and  the  law  says  that  you  have 
an  equal  right  to  throw  your  own  quarters  into 
the  water,  but  equity,  which,  let  me  inform 
you,  goes  a  little  beyond  law,  declares  that 
when  a  man  throws  a  quarter  into  the  river  it 
must  be  a  good  quarter  or  he  lays  himself  lia 
ble  for  making  current  a  counterfeit.  There- 

39 


An  American  in  New  York 

fore,  you  owe  this  nigger  ten  dollars.'     And 
i'gad,  I  made  him  pay  it. 

"Will  you  gentlemen  repair  with  me  to  the 
bar-room  and  join  me  in  something  soft?  La 
dies,  I  wish  you  good-night." 


40 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  COLONEL  MORALIZES  OVER  THE  GREAT 
HUMAN  TIDE. 

As  voiced  by  the  bellow  of  the  great  bells 
old  Time's  wheel  had  slipped  four  cogs,  signal 
for  the  homeward  rush,  and  the  American  in 
New  York  stood  at  the  Manhattan  end  of  the 
Brooklyn  bridge.  In  the  contemplation  of  a 
mighty  crowd  the  developed  soul  is  stirred  to 
rebellion.  In  the  crowd  the  mind  may  be  more 
active,  but  it  is  narrower.  Solitude  is  breadth ; 
man  makes  many  noises  but  creative  nature 
lives  in  silence.  Silence  was  the  beginning  and 
silence  must  be  the  end  of  all,  and  to  look  upon 
the  nightmare  of  this  troubled  dream  of  life, 
knowing  that  its  struggles  are  but  gestures 
made  wild  in  the  meaningless  air,  depresses 
and  takes  from  us  that  keen  nerve,  that  live 
wire  of  ambition  that  inspires  to  action.  Such 
were  the  thoughts  of  the  Colonel  as  he 
watched  the  tide  flowing  across  the  bridge,  but 
with  a  shake  he  roused  himself!  "Come 
now,"  he  mused.  "That  is  the  way  an  old 
man  thinks.  The  world  is  real  and  the  sun 

41 


An  American  in  New  York 

is  its  lamp  and  the  moon  is  its  evening  senti 
ment.  America,  even  in  its  discovery,  refuted 
the  belief  that  the  world  had  seen  its  best  day. 
The  forces  of  creation  are  ever  new  and  we 
learn  more  from  the  ringing  hammer  than 
from  the  aging  moralist,  sitting  half  blind  in 
his  darkened  chamber.  But  why  should  the 
mind  grow  old?  Can  any  one  trace  its  be 
ginning,  and  therefore,  who  should  attempt  to 
trace  its  end?" 

Before  taking  his  meditative  stand  at  the 
bridge  the  Colonel  had  moralized  in  an  old 
churchyard  where  headstones  were  crumbling 
beneath  the  touch  of  flowing  years.  It  was  an 
odd  sight  to  him,  these  ash-heaps  of  the  past 
in  the  midst  of  the  roaring  furnaces  of  the 
present,  and  it  made  him  sad,  the  nothingness 
of  it  all ;  and  he  had  come  to  the  bridge  to  look 
upon  the  fullest  tide  of  American  life.  And 
here  were  myriads  of  faces  without  the  illumi 
nation  of  an  ennobling  thought — sheep  rush 
ing  to  the  slaughter  of  inevitable  circumstance, 
souls  dwarfed  by  the  narrowing  stress  of  mer 
ciless  obligation.  But  amid  those  myriads  an 
occasional  lamp  was  carried  by,  a  mind  radiat 
ing  its  light,  a  philosopher  forced  out  of  his 
contemplative  pace;  and  in  sombre  garb  were 

42 


An  American  in  New  York 

seen  the  noble  and  self-sacrificing,  the  father, 
the  mother — the  unmarked  hero  of  some  crisis 
yet  to  come.  Ah,  those  face-pages,  what  a 
book !  Sublimity,  stupidity,  comedy,  tragedy 
—life.  Tear  out  a  thousand  of  these  pages 
and  to-morrow  the  book  would  seem  just  as 
thick.  But  in  the  homes  the  poems  and  the 
psalms  would  be  missed,  sonnets  unknown  to 
the  public  and  destined  forever  to  remain  un 
read  by  the  crowd.  How  illustrative  of  us 
all,  this  swift  channel  flowing  high  in  the  air, 
this  aqueduct  of  human  currents.  Nothing  is 
of  avail  except  as  it  causes  us  to  halt  and  to 
think,  for  when  we  do  think  we  are  kindlier 
and  thereby  the  world  is  made  better.  An  in 
vention  is  a  thought  and  a  kind  deed  is  a  part 
of  true  education. 

The  muser  turned  away,  bettered  by  this 
sermon  which  he  had  preached  unto  himself, 
and  he  thought  of  the  millions  upon  millions 
of  acres  to  the  westward  where  those  strug 
gling  souls  would  be  welcomed  and  freed.  An 
overpowering  sense  of  his  own  smallness  came 
upon  him,  and  he  wondered  how  any  man  who 
existing  thus  as  a  grain  of  sand  in  a  whirlwind 
could  fancy  himself  greater  than  his  fellows. 
But  when  he  got  down  into  the  street  where 

43 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  crowd  had  thinned  out  his  sense  of  in 
dividuality  returned.  It  requires  but  a  mo 
ment  for  self-assertive  nature  to  come  back  to 
us,  again  to  beset  us  with  whims  and  vanities; 
and,  indeed,  without  them  there  would  be  no 
humor,  no  literature. 

Millionaire  Lane  of  theWaldorf  Hotel  was 
in  the  glory  of  its  evening  swell.  And  what 
a  different  tide  from  that  which  flowed  across 
the  bridge.  Here  fashion  was  gathered,  wo 
men  with  white  skin  gleaming,  and  men  prim 
in  elegance  but  powerful  in  the  apparent 
thought  that  they  had  fought,  had  won  and 
were  among  the  conquerers  of  the  world.  We 
wonder  how  it  would  feel  to  be  able  to  draw 
an  honorable  check  for  ten  millions,  and  upon 
the  man  whom  wealth  alone  has  granted  in 
ternational  fame  we  gaze  speculating  as  to 
how  he  feels.  He  is  afflicted,  he  shakes  with 
palsy,  he  is  tottering  toward  the  magnificent 
tomb  the  plan  of  which  he  has  just  approved, 
and  still  there  is  about  him  a  power  which  our 
own  struggle  and  disappointment  compel  us 
to  recognize.  He  crosses  the  bridge,  not  on 
hastening  foot,  but  in  sweeping  chariot,  and 
those  of  the  scramblers  who  do  not  get  out  of 
his  way  are  likely  to  be  crushed ;  but  one  of  his 

44 


An  American  in  New  York 

chariots  will  move  slowly  and  naught  save  his 
kinsman,  the  worm,  is  in  danger  of  being  run 
over  by  the  wheels.  But  is  he  not  weary,  and 
may  he  not  be  as  willing  to  ride  in  that  last 
chariot  as  some  of  the  rest  of  us?  It  does 
not  seem  so.  Trace  back  the  lengthened 
thread  of  his  life  and  wonder  at  his  beginning, 
a  poor  boy,  teaching  a  country  school.  Did  he 
follow  the  precepts  in  his  books,  or  did  he 
make  precepts  of  his  own  ?  Was  there  a  guide 
to  tell  him  how  to  speculate  in  stocks,  to  bring 
about  panic  to  cause  distress?  Can  there  be 
true  democracy  until  his  power — his  mythical 
power  to  shake  the  financial  earth — is  gone? 
Look  at  that  beautiful  woman:  money  spirit 
ualized,  she  seems.  Did  she  ever  hear  of  the 
German  poetess  who  was  found  in  the  potato- 
field  and  summoned  blushingly  and  afraid  to 
the  court  of  the  emperor?  The  Colonel 
looked  at  her  as  he  sat  by  the  wall,  and  he  said 
to  an  acquaintance  who  made  it  an  evening 
custom  to  watch  the  gorgeous  parade :  "I 
think  I  saw  her  the  other  day,  out  riding  with 
her  dog." 

"Happy  dog,"  replied  the  acquaintance. 

"Well,  not  wholly,"  said  the  American. 
"While  she  was  waiting  for  the  policeman  to 

45 


An  American  in  New  York 

clear  a  way  through  the  jamming  carriages  the 
dog  leaped  out  and  was  immediately  seized  by 
a  cur  that  broke  away  from  a  boy's  string.  For 
a  moment  the  air  was  full  of  ribbons.  The 
lady  shrieked,  and  the  policeman,  knowing  his 
duty,  ran  to  the  rescue  of  the  wallowed  pug. 
If  such  a  thing  had  not  been  impossible  the 
cur  would  have  made  the  pug's  face  uglier 
than  it  was.  I  never  saw  such  a  shaking. 
Usually  I  am  for  the  under  dog  in  the  fight, 
but  on  this  occasion,  sir,  I  was  for  the  upper 
one.  I  said  to  myself,  'Madam,  the  sweetest 
and  most  appealing  smile  of  a  beautiful  child 
might  not  so  nearly  concern  you  as  the  sneeze 
of  that  brute.  Let  him  take  it  and  I'm  glad 
he  got  it.'  I  shall  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that 
she  kissed  him  when  he  was  lifted  back  into 
the  carriage,  but  if  I  did  it  wouldn't  be  a  lie, 
sir.  Ah,  look  through  the  doorway  at  that 
old  chap  at  the  bar.  See  him  shudder.  He  is 
trying  to  ease  himself  down  from  a  height 
he  attained  yesterday.  He  puts  me  in  mind 
of  an  old  fellow  I  saw  in  Louisville. 

"Early  one  morning  I  went  into  the  hotel 
bar  and  the  thought  struck  me  that  I  had 
need  of  ice-cold  buttermilk.  About  the  time 
the  bartender  put  it  out  in  came  the  old  citi- 


An  American  in  New  York 

zen.  His  hair  looked  like  newly-ginned  cot 
ton  and  in  his  cheeks  there  were  broken  veins. 
'Billy,'  he  said  to  the  bartender,  'make  me  a 
cocktail.'  The  bartender  cracked  his  ice, 
clapped  his  tin  thing  on  a  tumbler  and  shook 
out  the  drink,  poured  it  into  a  glass,  sugared 
the  rim,  hooked  on  a  piece  of  lemon  peel  and 
placed  it  before  his  customer.  The  old  man 
reached  for  it  but  suddenly  drew  back  with  a 
sort  of  jolt.  The  memory  of  the  night  before 
was  a  little  too  much  for  him.  He  turned  about, 
looked  at  the  pictures  on  the  wall,  whistled  a 
few  notes  from  an  opera,  and,  again  facing 
the  bar,  put  out  his  fumbly  hand,  but  again 
there  came  the  jolt,  deep  from  within.  Then, 
glancing  at  me,  he  said  to  the  bartender: 
'Billy,  give  me  some  buttermilk.'  The  milk 
was  set  out  for  him.  He  took  the  glass, 
drank  half  of  the  contents,  which,  upon  my 
word  of  honor,  sir,  I  could  hear  sizzling,  and 
then  he  spoke  to  me :  'I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
you  being  a  stranger  to  me,  but  I  was  just 
thinking  what  a  shame  it  is  that  this  stuff 
won't  make  a  man  drunk.'  ' 

A  page  came  up  and  told  the  Colonel  that 
a  number  of  his  acquaintances  were  in  the 
Turkish  room,  waiting  for  him  to  tell  them  a 

47 


An  American  in  New  York 

story,  and  inquiring  the  name  of  the  man  who 
sat  beside  him,  he  conducted  him  in  and  intro 
duced  him,  of  course,  as  his  old  and  valued 
friend.  "You  have  honored  me,"  said  the 
American,  bowing  to  the  men  and  most  gra 
ciously  smiling  upon  the  ladies,  and  then,  seat 
ing  himself,  he  continued :  "I  don't  know  that 
I  have  a  story,  but  to-day  as  I  gazed  upon  a 
great  moving  mass  of  humanity  I  thought  that 
not  in  all  the  community  which  has  cast  by  en 
vironment  such  countenances  was  there  one  of 
those  peculiar  individuals  known  as  typical 
American  characters.  I  remember  at  this  mo 
ment  an  old  fellow  whom  I  shall  speak  of  as 
Uncle  John,  the  oracle  of  a  rural  neighbor 
hood,  shrewd  with  the  opinion  that  in  his  own 
observation  was  a  world  of  knowledge.  Not 
long  ago  he  returned  from  a  visit  to  Chicago, 
and  in  the  crossroads  grocery  store,  the  forum 
of  his  wisdom,  he  took  his  seat  near  the  stove. 
About  him  soon  gathered  a  number  of  his 
friends — Jim  Horn,  horse-trader  and  general 
liar  of  the  community;  Uncle  Bill  Butter- 
worth,  recorder  of  the  late  and  early  frosts; 
Tom  Malone,  a  neighborhood  drunkard,  who 
reformed  every  fall  and  fell  every  spring — to 
gether  with  a  number  of  others  whom  neither 


An  American  in  New  York 

age  nor  experience  warranted  in  asserting  their 
identity. 

"  'Well,  Uncle  John/  said  Malone,  'you've 
got  back,  I  see.* 

'Yes,  in  a  measure,  Tommy.    Hain't  been 
drunk  since  I  left?* 

'  'No,  and  ain't  goin'  to  drink  no  more.' 

'  'Shake  on  that,  Tommy,'  and  according 
to  well-worn  custom  they  shook  hands  to  cele 
brate  the  reformation.  'Yes,'  said  Uncle 
John,  'got  back  and  mighty  glad  of  it,  for  there 
ain't  no  place  on  this  earth  that  can  equal 
Jefferson  Corners.  And  I've  been  about  a 
good  bit,  I  tell  you.  And  while  I  was  in  town, 
a-visitin'  my  married  daughter,  boys,  I  seen 
Richard  the  Third.' 

"With  brightening  interest  Tommy  looked 
up  and  said:  'Richard  the  Third.  He  made 
it  in  about  one-thirty-six,  didn't  he?' 

'"Made  what?' 

"  'A  mile.' 

'"A  mile!' 

"  'Yes;  ain't  you  talkin'  about  a  boss?' 

"  'No,  sir,  I  ain't.  I'm  talkin'  about 
Shakespeare.' 

"  'Oh,  excuse  me,'  said  Tommy,  'but  when 
a  man  comes  a-talkin'  about  Jay  Eye  Sees  and 

49 


An  American  in  New  York 

Richard  Thirds,  I  jest  nachully  puts  it  down 
that  he's  talkin'  about  a  hoss.' 

'  Shakespeare,'  said  Uncle  Bill  Butter- 
worth.  'Ah,  hah.  My  granddaughter's 
schoolbook's  got  somethin'  in  it  writ  by  him. 
Came  across  it  t'uther  day,  and  he  writes  fair 
enough,  but  he  can't  spell  alongside  of  my 
granddaughter.  But  go  ahead  with  what  you 
was  a-goin'  to  say,  Uncle  John.' 

"  'All  right.  You  see,  this  was  the  first 
time  I  have  visited  my  daughter  since  she  mar 
ried  that  Board  of  Trade  man.  Sorter  skittish 
about  goin',  but  I  went.  And  he's  all  right, 
my  son-in-law  is — ain't  proud — don't  occupy 
more  than  half  the  house  he  lives  in.  Why, 
Tommy,  it's  a  quarter  of  a  mile  high  and  I 
don't  know  how  long;  don't  pretend  to  climb 
the  stairs;  hoisted  up  in  a  cage — s-s-s-shee — 
and  you're  there,  either  up  or  down,  as  the 
case  may  be. 

"  'Well,  first  night  after  I  got  there,  about 
the  time  we  got  through  supper,  son-in-law  asks 
me  if  I  am  fond  of  the  drama.  And  I  told 
him  that  I  had  drinked  a  good  deal  of  hard 
cider  and  a  Tom  and  Jerry  now  and  then,  but 
couldn't  say  I  was  married  to  it  beyond  the 
possibility  of  divorce.  And  then  he  laughed, 

50 


An  American  in  New  York 

he  did,  and  said  he  didn't  mean  anything  to 
drink;  not  a  dram,  but  the  drama,  the  theatre. 
Then  I  laughed  and  told  him  yes.  And  I 
wanted  him  to  understand,  too,  that  I  knowed 
a  good  deal  about  the  theatre  business,  for 
once  when  an  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  company 
played  at  the  Corners  I  furnished  two  of  the 
slats  for  Little  Eva's  death-bed.  And  this 
pleased  him — goned  if  it  didn't  please  him 
till  it  appeared  like  he  was  glad  he  had  mar 
ried  my  daughter.  And  then  he  told  me  to 
come  on  down  with  him  and  we'd  see  Richard 
the  Third.  He  didn't  say  nothin'  about  my 
daughter  goin',  and  I  thought  to  myself  that 
maybe  it  wa'n't  for  wimmin  folks,  but  that 
didn't  cripple  me  none  to  speak  of,  so  I  told 
him  all  right,  a-gittin'  keener  every  minute. 
When  we'd  got  into  the  cage  and  dropped 
down  to  the  bed-rock  passage  son-in-law  asked 
me  if  I  didn't  want  to  smoke  as  we  went  down 
town,  and  as  I  was  a-goin'  to  a  show  a  leetle 
too  nippy  for  wimmin  to  attend  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  swaller  the  whole  shootin' 
match,  and  I  told  him  so  in  words  befittin'  of 
the  occasion.  Gentlemen,  I  reckon  you  have 
seen  what  you  thought  was  segars,  but  you 
never  saw  such  as  son-in-law  bought  for  me. 


An  American  in  New  York 

Jest  about  the  size  of  a  bench-leg  in  a  district 
school,  and  had  a  gold  band  around  it,  rated 
in  price  at  five  cents  of  any  man's  money ;  and  I 
felt  that  nobody  but  bankers  and  Board  of 
Trade  men  could  afford  to  smoke  such  goods, 
but  I  didn't  let  on — fired  up  one  end  and  got 
on  the  outside  of  a  car  and  puffed  jest  like  I 
was  borned  and  raised  in  the  town.  Never  had 
a  cigar  to  keep  me  so  busy.  And  putty  soon  I 
seen  why  it  must  have  cost  so  much.  It  would 
smoke  up  one  side  jest  half  and  then  you  could 
go  back  and  light  the  other  half. 

"  'Well,  after  a  while  we  got  to  the  show- 
house,  and  it  was  all  lit  up  outside,  but  I  didn't 
bat  an  eye.  Son-in-law  told  me  to  throw  away 
my  cigar  and  I  hesitated,  knowin'  that  I  could 
smoke  t'uther  half  goin'  back,  but  I  flung  it  out 
in  the  street  and  it  bounced  around  red  like 
a  chunk  of  fire.  After  gittin'  seated  I  looked 
up,  and  right  in  front  of  the  platform  what 
they  call  the  stage  there  was  as  putty  a  curtain 
as  you  ever  seen,  all  painted  yaller  and  red 
and  blue,  but  it  didn't  strike  me  that  it  was  in 
tended  for  wimmin  to  look  at  along  at  the 
same  time  with  men.  It  represented  a  barge 
a-comin'  down  the  river,  and  in  it  sorter  lay 
back  a  putty  lady  powerful  scant  of  clothes 

52 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  some  half-naked  niggers  was  a-holdin' 
feather  dusters  over  her.  Son-in-law  said  it 
was  Cleopatry  a-goin'  to  meet  a  feller  named 
Ant'ny,  and  I  'lowed  she  put  me  in  mind  of  a 
woman  that  was  a-goin'  to  replevin  her  duds. 
He  snorted  and  told  me  to  hush. 

1  'Well,  then  the  horn-blowers  and  the 
fiddlers  come  out,  and  they  done  right  well, 
considering  that  there  was  so  many  of  them. 
When  they  got  through  with  this  the  curtain 
was  pulled  up  and  there  was  the  feller  they 
called  Richard  the  Third.  And  it  was  plain 
to  be  seen  that  murder  was  his  game,  for  at  this 
particular  time  he  waVt  king,  but  was  a  putty 
powerful  candidate  for  the  office,  for  it  ap 
peared  like  that  mighty  nigh  everybody  what 
was  dead  he  killed  'em.  I  thinks  to  myself 
that  they  had  to  look  a  long  time  to  find  a 
man  of  that  shape,  and  the  bill-of-fare  said  he 
was  great,  and  mebby  he  was.  Well,  it  waVt 
long  till  things  began  to  warm  up.  And  here 
come  a  funeral  to  make  it  natural.  This  here 
Richard  had  killed  a  king  that  had  been  shut 
up  in  the  round-house — no,  the  Tower,  I  be 
lieve  they  called  it — and  the  king's  daughter- 
in-law,  the  wife  of  a  prince,  a  good-lookin' 
woman  named  Ann,  she  come  along  a- 

53 


An  American  in  New  York 

mournin'  like,  and  Richard  he  steps  out  and 
told  the  hired  hands  to  put  down  the  deceased, 
and  they  done  it.  And  then  Mis'  Prince  she 
begins  to  abuse  him. 

'  'I  know  that  when  the  average  woman 
puts  her  mind  on  it  she  can  say  a  good  many 
mean  things,  fust  and  last,  but  I  never  heard 
a  woman  that  could  equal  this  one.  Put  me 
in  mind  of  a  feller  that  told  the  jedge  in  the 
old  story  that  he  could  addle  a  whole  room 
ful  of  goose-eggs  by  lookin'  through  the  key 
hole.  There  waVt  nothin'  she  didn't  call 
him,  but  he  stood  there  with  a  smile  like  he 
had  jest  licked  up  some  sorghum  molasses. 
She  accused  him  of  killin'  the  deceased  and  he 
didn't  deny  it,  but  smiled  at  her,  and  then  she 
thought  she  would  give  him  a  stunner  by  ac- 
cusin'  him  of  killin'  her  husband.  But  he 
didn't  deny  that,  either.  Told  her  he  loved 
her  so  he  couldn't  keep  from  killin'  him — 
wanted  to  help  her  to  a  better  husband — and 
she  spit  at  him  like  a  cat.  She  swore  he  ought 
to  be  dead,  and  he  drawed  his  sword  and 
handed  it  to  her,  and  she  took  it  and  made  at 
him,  and  I  yelled  out,  "Dodge,  you  fool !" 
But  he  didn't.  She  let  the  sword  drap  and 
'lowed  she  couldn't  kill  him.  Then  he  grabbed 

54 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  sword  and  said  he  would  kill  himself  if 
she  said  the  word,  but  she  shook  her  head  and 
told  him  to  get  up  and  he  said  he  would  never 
get  up  till  she  promised  to  marry  him,  and 
boys,  you  may  not  believe  it  when  I  tell  you, 
but  blamed  if  she  didn't  promise  right  there! 
Yes,  and  he  sent  her  one  way  and  the  deceased 
the  other,  and  then  tittered  fitten  to  kill  him 
self. 

"  'Well,  every  once  in  a  while  they'd  drop 
the  curtain  and  show  the  niggers  a-holdin'  the 
feather  dusters  over  the  woman  that  was  so 
scant  of  clothes,  and  with  each  time  things 
warmed  up  more  and  more.  Richard  had  a 
cousin  named  Buckingham,  and  he  says  to  him, 
says  he,  "Buck,  you  help  me  to  be  king  and 
ther  ain't  no  tellin'  what  I  won't  do  for  you," 
and  Buck  'lowed  he  was  with  him,  and  he  was 
for  a  good  while — helped  him  put  out  of  the 
way  fust  one  and  then  the  other;  but  after  the 
real  king  died  and  he  wanted  Buck  to  go  to 
the  Tower  and  murder  the  two  princes,  Buck 
he  quibbled.  Richard  told  him  he  oughtn't  to 
stick  at  a  little  thing  like  that,  but  Buck  said 
he  wa'n't  feelin'  very  well  that  mornin'  and 
didn't  believe  he'd  do  it;  and  he  didn't.  He 

55 


An  American  in  New  York 

grabs  his  sword  and  rushes  out  to  join  the 
enemy  that  was  comin'  to  fight  Richard.' 

"The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  time  and 
then  went  on :  'And,  boys,  I  dreamed  about 
that  show,  and  along  toward  mornin'  of  the 
last  night  I  was  there  I  dreamt  that  the  nig 
gers  was  a-holdin'  feather  dusters  over  me, 
and  I  awoke  sudden  and  grabbed  somethin' 
and  give  it  a  wring  and  a  twist — and  it  was 
my  daughter's  parrot  that  had  come  in  and 
was  on  my  pillow  a-ticklin'  my  ear  with  his 
tail.  I  waVt  more  than  half  awake,  you  un 
derstand,  and  I  killed  the  thing.  Yes,  and  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do — didn't  know  how  to 
apologize,  for  I  never  had  killed  a  parrot  be 
fore.  But  suddenly  a  thought  struck  me.  T 
would  put  it  in  my  valise  and  take  it  away  and 
nobody  would  be  the  wiser.  I  put  it  in  on  top 
of  my  shirts  and  went  out  to  breakfast,  and 
while  we  were  eating  daughter  she  wondered 
what  had  become  of  Polly,  but  of  course  I 
didn't  let  on.  Well,  as  I  was  a-starting  off 
daughter  called  me  to  stop,  and  then  here  she 
come  with  a  small  bundle  which  she  said  she 
wanted  me  to  take  home  for  her  mother.  I 
told  her  all  right,  that  I  would  put  it  in  my 
pocket,  but  she  said  no,  I  would  leave  it  on 

56 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  train  like  I  left  some  calico  once.  She  de 
clared  she  must  put  it  in  my  valise.  1  hollered 
out  against  it,  you  may  bet,  but  she  grabbed 
the  valise,  opened  it,  and  then  she  tuck  out 
the  parrot  and  lookin'  at  me,  said :  "Oh,  poor 
Polly,  poor  Polly!"  And  then  I  says,  "Yes, 
poor  Polly,  for  when  they  git  into  my  carpet 
bag  unbeknownst  to  me  and  touch  that  spring 
lock  it  kills  'em  every  time."  Son-in-law  fol 
lowed  me  down  to  the  rock  passage,  put  his 
arm  around  me,  handed  me  a  fifty-dollar  note, 
and  said :  "This  is  to  keep  that  spring  lock  in 
good  workin'  order  and  to  pay  your  way  back 
here  when  she  gits  another  parrot." 

"He  was  an  old  rascal,"  said  one  of  the 
ladies  when  the  Colonel  had  finished.  "Ah, 
that  may  be,"  replied  the  American,  bowing; 
"but,  as  our  friend  Bacon  would  say,  'A  little 
rascality,  like  the  alloy  in  gold,  makes  char 
acter  work  easier  and  therefore  renders  it 
more  enjoyable/ 


57 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  AMERICAN  TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  MINNIE 
WATKINS. 

Alone  the  Colonel  sat  in  the  Turkish  room 
of  the  Waldorf  Hotel.  On  a  chair  beside  him 
were  a  number  of  newspapers  rumpled  into 
a  jagged  pyramid,  showing  that  when  he  put 
them  down  the  American's  manner  was  not 
stately  or  composed.  From  them  he  sat  back 
in  a  deep  muse,  oblivious  of  the  comely  girl 
who  came  in  lightly  to  dust  about  the  room, 
and  the  fact  that  to  her  he  paid  no  attention 
proved  him  to  be  in  a  most  unusual  state  of 
mind,  for,  as  he  himself  was  wont  to  say, 
the  sudden  appearance  of  "calico"  always 
drove  away  the  hawks  and  supplied  their  place 
with  gentler  birds  of  thought,  the  doves  of  the 
soul.  It  will  require  more  of  education  to 
prove  to  the  gallant  Southerner  that  all  wo 
men  are  not  angels  than  it  will  to  convince  the 
average  foreigner  that  any  of  them  are  worthy 
of  that  distinction.  Once,  at  a  hotel  in  Denver, 
a  chambermaid  was  caught  by  the  house  de 
tective  in  the  act  of  robbing  the  Colonel's 

58 


An  American  in  New  York 

room.  She  was  taken  to  court,  a  fifty-dollar 
banknote  was  found  secreted  in  her  sleeve,  and 
the  magistrate  was  about  to  pass  sentence  of 
imprisonment  upon  her  when  the  Colonel 
spoke  up.  "Wait  a  moment,  Judge.  Let  me 
see  that  bill,"  and  when  with  pretended  close 
ness  he  had  looked  at  the  note  he  started 
with  surprise  and  cried  out:  uWhy,  this  is 
the  one  I  gave  her,  and  she  couldn't  have 
stolen  what  was  already  her  own." 

"The  one  you  gave  her,"  said  the  magis 
trate,  scratching  his  head. 

"Yes — for  a  debt.  You  see,  my  brother 
used  to  run  a  hotel  out  at  Colorado  Springs. 
He  failed,  on  account  of  sickness,  and  I 
might  say  death — to  be  exact — to  pay  his  help. 
He  owed  this  girl! — let's  see,  miss,  what  is 
your  name?" 

"Minnie  Watkins,"  she  whimpered. 

From  his  left-hand  pistol  pocket  the 
Colonel  took  a  notebook,  and  after  turning 
several  leaves,  cried  out:  "Ah,  your  honor, 
she  is  right.  Minnie  Watkins  is  the  name. 
I  paid  her  before  I  verified  it,  a  careless  habit 
I  dropped  into  while  engaged  in  raising 
cotton  in  the  South,  being  somewhat  busy  at 
the  time,  and  am  now  pleased  to  find  that 

59 


An  American  in  New  York 

she  is  truthful  as  well  as  honest.  Now, 
therefore,  your  honor,  I  move  you,  sir,  in  the 
absence  of  any  other  business  before  the 
house,  that  the  prisoner  be  honorably  dis 
charged." 

To  this  procedure  the  city  prosecuting 
attorney  objected  to  the  extent  that  it  was  not 
in  regular  process,  and  upon  him  the  Colonel 
turned  in  thunderous  wrath.  "Sir,  is  your 
soul  no  bigger  than  a  technicality  of  the  law? 
And,  your  honor,  is  justice  to  be  crippled 
and  made  to  go  lame  while  attorneys  indulge 
the  jumping-jack  quibblings  of  a  dwarfed 
understanding?  'No,  sir/  cries  out  the 
American  people,  and  therefore  I  insist  upon 
the  motion." 

The  motion  was  carried,  the  prisoner  dis 
charged,  and  as  the  Colonel  came  up  beside 
her  in  the  street  she  said  to  him :  "They  gave 
me  back  the  fifty  dollars.  What  must  I  do 
with  it?" 

"Miss,  you  must  retain  it  to  prove  that  I 
am  not  a  liar.  And  remember  this:  Never 
catch  a  gentleman  in  a  lie  if  you  can  help  it. 
It  not  only  looks  bad,  but  if  by  chance  he  is 
inclined  to  be  sensitive  it  might  worry  him 
somewhat."  He  told  her  that  he  would  talk 
60 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  the  hotel  proprietor  in  her  behalf,  would 
demand,  in  fact,  that  she  should  not  be  dis 
charged;  and  he  did,  and  when  everything 
had  been  adjusted  he  found  opportunity  to 
say  to  her:  uMy  dear — pardon  the  famil 
iarity,  but  you  must  know  that  financial 
relations  are  sometimes  the  closest  of  kin — 
I  don't  understand  how  one  with  so  innocent 
a  looking  face  could  be  dishonest,  and  if  I 
were  you  I  should  make  an  attempt  to  live 
up  to  the  promises  of  my  countenance.  Every 
lady  ought  to  be  honest.  If  she  isn't,  how  can 
she  expect  her  husband  to  be  a  gentleman?" 

The  girl  promised  that  she  would  be  hon 
est,  even  if  it  killed  her,  and  he  replied  that  he 
didn't  think  it  would  be  that  bad;  and  it 
wasn't,  for  several  years  afterward,  when  he 
found  her  the  wife  of  a  well-to-do  man  in  Se 
attle  and  the  presiding  genius  of  a  hotel,  she 
appeared  never  to  have  suffered  from  her  ef 
fort.  They  were  glad  to  see  each  other;  the 
Colonel  began  to  talk  of  old  friends  whom 
they  had  not  known  in  common,  of  our  old 
Jones  and  of  Miss  Elizabeth  and  the  like,  and 
while  the  reunion  was  at  its  height  the  hus 
band  broke  in — well,  not  exactly  in  the  con 
versation,  being  a  man  who  seemed  to  hoard 
61 


An  American  in  New  York 

his  words,  but  interrupted  the  proceedings 
long  enough  to  hand  fifty  dollars  to  the 
Colonel,  who,  in  an  outburst  of  most  gallant 
surprise,  exclaimed: 

"And  may  I  ask  what  this  is  for?" 
The  husband  blinked  as  if  the  sun  were  in 
his  eyes,  and  said:     "Money  my  wife  owed 
you  when  you  worked  for  her*  in  Denver." 

He  dropped  back,  to  hoard  up  his  words, 
and  the  wife,  being  more  extravagant,  gushed 
forth:  "Oh,  it's  all  right,  Colonel.  I  told 
him  all  about  it  even  before  he  gave  me  a 
position  of  trust — noticed  that  I  was  success 
ful  in  my  attempt  to  be  honest,  and  about  six 
months  afterward  he  got  together  words 
enough  to  ask  me  to  be  his  wife."  The  hus 
band  blinked  as  if  he  had  reached  the  sum 
mit  of  the  greatest  joke  of  his  life,  the  very 
Pike's  Peak  of  humor;  but  the  Colonel 
hemmed  and  hawed,  believing  that  he  ought 
to  say  something  appropriate,  and  finally  he 
remarked:  "Madam,  if  he  knows  all  about 
it  there  is  no  further  need  of  polite  disguise, 
and  now  permit  me  to  say  that  I  am  con 
vinced  you  took  the  money  to  administer  to 
the  distress  of  a  mother  or  of  some  other 
near  relative." 

62 


An  American  in  New  York 

"No,"  she  spoke  up,  "I  wanted  to  buy  a 
cloak  with  it.  Every  other  woman  appeared 
to  have  one,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  been 
cheated;  but  I  know  now  that  such  a  gar 
ment  would  freeze  me,  and  I  thank  you  for 
my  ability  to  keep  warm." 

"Warm,"  said  the  husband,  throwing 
'away  a  word  that  he  had  intended  to  keep. 
She  was  standing  beside  him  at  the  time,  and 
affectionately  she  ran  her  hand  through  his 
brush-broom  hair,  and  a  ring  on  her  finger 
glowed  like  a  glowworm  in  the  autumn 
grass.  It  was  but  natural  that  this  should 
make  a  deep  impression  upon  the  Colonel, 
and  he  went  his  way,  glad  when  he  thought 
of  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  little  drama. 
And  it  was  natural,  too,  that  this  experience 
should  in  the  future  soften  him  toward  all 
women  accused  of  crime,  if  indeed  he  could 
be  made  softer  than  he  was,  and  it  is  unde 
niably  responsible  for  his  creed  that  all  wo 
men  are  honest,  more  or  less,  according  to 
the  degree  of  fascination  in  which  they  are 
held  by  cloaks  and  other  articles  of  finery. 
He  often  declared  that  no  woman  would 
steal  without  sufficient  cause,  or  without  what 
she  honestly  believed  was  sufficient  cause; 

63 


An  American  in  New  York 

that  she  was  not  naturally  depraved,  but  was 
irresistibly  influenced  by  the  gorgeous  appear 
ance  of  her  more  fortunate  sisters;  that  her 
sisters  were  gorgeous  to  please  man,  and  that, 
therefore,  man  was  the  cause  of  it  all. 

So  when  the  Colonel  did  not  look  up  from 
his  set-eyed  abstraction  upon  the  coming  of 
the  chambermaid  something  unwonted  must 
have  arisen  to  throw  him  deep  down  into  a 
state  of  forgetfulness.  The  girl  was  disap 
pointed,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  receive  a 
tip  whenever  she  smiled  at  the  American, 
and  she  coughed,  a  modest  little  distress  she 
had  cultivated  for  the  Colonel's  benefit,  but 
he  did  not  look  up.  She  went  out,  wonder 
ing  what  the  matter  could  be ;  and  then  along 
came  a  doctor,  not  the  house  physician,  but 
a  man  who  had  practiced  in  New  York  years 
ago,  who  had  married  a  wealthy  girl,  lost 
her  money  in  speculation,  and  who  now  made 
a  show  of  prosperity  by  appearing  regularly 
at  the  Waldorf.  He  knew  the  Colonel  well 
— that  is,  as  well  as  a  man  of  his  pretentious 
stamp  cares  to  know  one  not  belonging  to  the 
golden  circle — and  he  halted  and  spoke  to  the 
American.  With  a  flounce  the  Colonel 
tumbled  out  of  his  muse,  arose,  dusted  his 


An  American  in  New  York 

trousers,  a  habit  the  Southerner  has  from  his 
long  continued  custom  of  sitting  upon  the 
stumps  and  stones  of  his  plantation,  grasped 
the  Doctor  by  the  hand  and  shook  it  with 
fervor.  "Doctor/'  said  he,  "I  beg  your  par 
don  for  not  seeing  you  sooner.  Sit  down." 

The  Doctor  said  that  he  was  very,  very 
kind,  sat  down  and  inquired  as  to  how  the 
world  was  using  him,  which  meant  if  he  were 
well  in  London  and  New  York.  The  Colonel 
said  that  he  was  well,  or  would  be  in  America, 
but  that  as  he  was  still  a  stranger  in  New 
York  he  didn't  know  exactly  how  he  felt. 
This  was  a  humor  too  sly  for  the  Doctor,  for 
no  matter  how  refined  the  New  Yorker  may 
be,  there  are  little  sun  glints  of  drollery  too 
delicate  for  him.  This  was  not  always  so, 
and  it  has  come  latterly  from  his  habit  of  cul 
tivating  British  dullness. 

"You  seemed  just  now  to  be  completely  in 
the  possession  of  some  hypnotic  force,"  said 
the  Doctor,  and  the  Colonel  snorted  and  swore 
that  he  had  been.  "Look  here,"  said  he, 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  pile  of  newspapers. 
"Look  at  these  things  that  some  people  call 
the  leading  newspapers  of  America.  There 
are  five  of  them,  and  out  of  the  hundreds  of 

65 


An  American  in  New  York 

columns  there  is  scarcely  a  word  about  Amer 
ica.  Look  at  this  one;  five  columns  on  the 
first  page  from  London — parties,  receptions, 
scandals  of  dukes  and  lords;  three-quarters 
of  a  column  about  a  storm  in  Devonshire 
where  no  one  was  mortally  hurt,  and  only  a 
few  lines  given  to  a  town  out  West  completely 
destroyed  by  the  wind." 

The  Doctor  smiled.  "Newspapers  print 
what  they  have  reason  to  know  will  please 
their  readers,"  said  he. 

"Yes,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "and  they  have 
been  educated  to  want  foreign  stuff.  How 
can  you  expect  people  to  be  patriotic  when 
they  know  nothing  about  their  own  coun 
try?" 

The  Doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Oh, 
patriotism,"  said  he,  "is  a  mere  matter  of 
narrowness.  It  is  an  evidence  of  the  fact 
that  a  man  has  not  traveled.  Indeed,  you 
might  say  that  it  is  a  lack  of  education.  To 
be  what  is  usually  known  as  a  patriot  one 
must  believe  that  his  country,  his  home,  is 
the  best  spot  on  earth,  and  that  his  friends 
and  neighbors  are  the  best  people  in  the 
world.  Traveling  dispels  that  notion." 

The  Colonel  clapped  his  hand  over  his 
66 


An  American  in  New  York 

mouth  to  keep  from  roaring.  "And,  sir, 
when  a  man  travels  he  must  make  it  an  ob 
ject  to  find  that  all  other  countries  are  better 
than  his  own,  and  that  the  country  which 
is  most  aristocratic  is  the  one  most  worthy 
of  imitation." 

"Not  necessarily,"  the  Doctor  yawned. 
"But  I  should  like  to  ask  if  it  isn't  well  to 
imitate  the  one  that  has  the  most  experience 
in  the  affairs  of  life  and  is  therefore  the  most 
remote  from  crudity?" 

"I  grant  you,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "that 
is,  if  we  are  to  imitate  at  all — but  why  imi 
tate?  Isn't  it  shallow  and  a  sign  of  inherent 
weakness  to  strive  toward  a  catching  of  what 
others  possess,  only  in  so  far  as  we  can  copy 
their  wisdom  and  their  virtue?  But  isn't  it 
a  fact  that  when  we  copy  we  find  that  we 
have  gathered  only  a  foolish  harvest  of 
foibles  ?  America  is  great  to-day  not  because 
she  has  aped  but  because  she  is  original.  And 
though  out  in  America  we  have  a  most  pro 
found  admiration  for  respectability,  yet  we 
have  learned  to  know  that  a  man  is  not  re 
spectable  or  wise  or  a  useful  citizen  simply 
because  he  is  the  offshoot  of  a  family  that 
was  prominent  in  society.  I  have  had  a  few 


An  American  in  New  York 

of  my  own  prejudices  knocked  on  the  head, 
and  I  have  learned  that  work  and  accom 
plishment  are  the  true  virtues  of  civilization. 
Sir,"  and  the  Colonel  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  "you  regard  the  Government 
patronage  of  this  town  as  of  more  importance 
than  all  the  affairs  in  Washington,  and  many 
of  you  cast  your  votes  accordingly.  I  met 
a  well  known  politician  the  other  day  who 
boasted  that  he  had  never  been  West.  Has 
ignorance  become  a  virtue,  and  is  your  blue- 
book  rating  of  a  man  governed  by  his  nar 
rowness  of  view?" 

"Sit  down,  Colonel.  You  people  from  the 
outside  take  yourselves  too  seriously.  You've 
got  a  sort  of  intellectual  indigestion.  Mount 
ains  and  alkali  water  have  made  you  nerv 
ous,  and  you  look  at  New  York  with  your 
accustomed  grain  of  sand  in  the  eye.  There 
may  be  some  truth  in  your  wrath.  In  all 
madness  there  is  truth,  just  as  there  is  a  sort 
of  philosophy  in  all  religion.  But  you  are 
compelled  to  go  away  from  New  York,  feel 
ing  that  here  is  where  the  heart  of  the  nation 
beats." 

"Sir,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  "this  is  a 
gambling  house,  and  in  such  places  the  heart 
68 


An  American  in  New  York 

does  beat  fast,  I  tell  you.  I  remember  a  fel 
low  named  Brady  that  came  into  Deadwood. 
He  had  with  him  a  small  bag  of  Black  Hills 
gold,  and  he  had  nerves  of  steel  wire.  From 
the  very  start  he  began  to  win.  They 
changed  dealers  on  him  time,  and  again,  but 
luck  was  with  him.  Sitting  beside  him  was 
a  man  that  had  lost  everything.  He  tried 
to  follow  Brady's  bets,  but  lost  just  the  same. 
After  a  while  he  shoved  back  and  said :  'Well, 
I'm  broke.'  That  wasn't  an  announcement 
so  startling  as  to  cause  any  unusual  .excite 
ment — i'  gad,  I  was  broke  myself,  but  said 
nothing  about  it.  But  this  chap  kept  on  in 
sisting  that  he  was  done  for.  A  Chinaman 
stood  behind  him,  and  the  dealer  said  to  him, 
'Git  up  and  let  the  gentleman  sit  down.'  The 
fellow  looked  around  and  saw  the  Chinaman, 
and  as  he  arose  he  remarked  to  the  dealer: 
Til  take  that,  as  I'm  broke,  but  if  I  had  ten 
dollars  I'd  maul  you  for  it.  Brady  did  not 
look  up,  but  reaching  back  he  said:  'Here's 
ten.  Maul  him.'  The  fellow  took  the  ten, 
bought  chips  with  it,  and  then  struck  the 
dealer  a  blow  between  the  eyes  and  tumbled 
him  out  of  the  chair.  But  that  made  no  dif 
ference,  as  it  was  about  time  to  change  dealers 


An  American  in  New  York 

again.  For  a  time  the  unlucky  chap  won, 
but  along  came  a  swipe  that  swept  him  off  the 
board.  Tardner,  you  seem  to  be  pretty  well 
fixed,'  he  said  to  Brady: 

"'Yep;  doing  fairly  well.' 
'You  don't  know  me,  do  you?' 

"  'Hope  not,'  said  Brady. 

'Well,   a  man  can  know  a    good    many 
worse  fellows  than  I  am.' 

"  'Well,  he  might,'  said  Brady.     'What's 
your  name — at  the  present?' 

"  'Joe  Gates.     Ever  hear  of  me?' 

"  'Might  have.' 

'  'Ever  hear  of  me  strong  enough  to  lend 
me  a  hundred?' 

1  'No;  my  hearing  ain't  that  good  since  I 
had  the  yaller  janders.' 

'"How  about  fifty?' 

"  'Good-night,'  said  Brady.  But  the  fel 
low  wouldn't  go.  It's  harder  to  pull  up  the 
white  oak  sapling  that  the  little  black  bull 
whets  his  horn  against  than  it  is  to  jerk  a 
fellow  out  of  a  gambling  house  as  long  as 
even  the  vaguest  hope  tells  him  that  there's 
a  chance  to  get  back  into  the  game,  and  he 
continued  to  stand  there.  Brady  asked  him 
if  he  had  anything  he  could  put  up.  'No,' 
70 


An  American  in  New  York 

he  said;  Tve  lost  everything.  Wish  I  hadn't 
stopped  here.  Was  on  my  way  through  this 
wolf-den  to  git  married  out  about  fifty  miles 
beyond.  Had  to  stop  to  get  the  license/ 

*  'Got  it  with  you  now?'  Brad^  Inquired, 
and  the  fellow  said  he  had.  Brady  took  the 
license,  and  as  he  was  throwing  his  eye  on 
the  document  the  fellow  said:  'You  ought 
to  have  sentiment  enough  about  you  to  let 
me  have  at  least  a  hundred  on  that  piece  of 
paper/  Brady  studied  a  while,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  game,  and  said,  'Yes,  mar 
riage  is  a  lottery,  and  this  is  the  ticket.'  Then 
he  added:  Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do;  I'll  let 
you  have  a  hundred  if  you'll  agree  to  give 
me  this  paper  and  give  me  the  option  on  your 
life  if  you  go  back  to  the  clerk  and  get  out 
another  draft  of  the  same  statement.' 

"  'I  love  the  girl,'  the  fellow  moaned,  and 
Brady  held  forth  the  paper,  but  he  didn't 
take  it.  'Give  me  the  hundred,'  he  said,  and 
Brady  gave  him  the  chips.  The  deal  went 
on,  but  Brady  didn't  play  long  after  that. 
He  cashed  in,  and  as  he  and  I  were  going 
along  the  street  he  said  to  me:  'Didn't  give 
myself  away  when  I  looked  at  that  license, 
did  I?' 


An  American  in  New  York 

"'How?'  I  asked. 

"  'Didn't  start  nor  nothing?' 

u'No.     What  makes  you  ask?' 

'Why,  as  soon  as  I  looked  at  the  docu 
ment  I  saw  that  the  lout  was  going  to  marry 
my  sister.  And  as  I've  got  the  drop  on  him 
I  reckon  I've  saved  her  a  lifetime  of  trouble.' 
And  it  turned  out  to  be  a  fact,  for  this  fellow, 
Joe  Gates,  was  as  woolly  a  scoundrel  as  ever 
crossed  a  sheep  ranch;  murdered  a  peddler, 
sir,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  an 
exceedingly  well  written  account  of  the  cere 
monies  incident  to  his  hanging. 

"What  became  of  Brady's  sister?  Well, 
some  time  later  I  met  her  in  Denver,  at  a 
hotel,  but  didn't  know  who  she  was  until 
several  years  afterward.  At  the  time  I  met 
her  she  called  herself  Minnie  Watkins,  and 
she  is  now  the  fortunate  wife  of  a  hotel  man 
who  has  as  few  words  as  the  protagonist  of  a 
pantomime.  Brady  was  quite  a  character, 
first  and  last,  and  I  hear  that  he's  going  to 
bring  out  a  book  of  his  sermons  pretty  soon. 
Yes,  he  is  a  preacher,  and  he  makes  sinners 
think  that  it  is  a  constant  show-down,  and  I 
reckon  it  is.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
our  argument,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
72 


An  American  in  New  York 

drifting  off.  A  man  who  is  a  citizen  of  a 
country  and  is  not  proud  of  it  is  not  entitled 
to  share  in  the  glory  of  his  nation.  When 
you  speak  of  New  York  as  America,  as  the 
Parisian  speaks  of  Paris  as  being  France, 
you  are  ridiculous.  You  set  no  fashions,  but 
get  your  customs  from  abroad." 

"Not  all,  Colonel,  for  in  some  things  you 
must  admit  that  we  are  original." 

uYes;  in  a  very  few  things,  and  in  justice 
to  you  I  must  make  a  correction  of  the  state 
ment  that  your  social  customs  are  foreign. 
A  few  of  them  have  been  most  strikingly 
original,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  tailoring 
of  a  monkey  into  the  semblance  of  a  man 
and  making  him  the  guest  of  honor  at  a  din 
ner.  It  is  not  recorded  that  London  was 
ever  so  wantonly  new,  and  we  may  with  cer 
tainty  set  it  down  as  a  fact  that  Paris  would 
not  indulge  in  so  fitting  a  parody  upon  its 
own  physique.  Sir,  I  am  told  that  where 
there  is  great  wealth  there  must  also  be  great 
eccentricity,  and  this  reminds  me  that  it  was 
a  Frenchman  and  not  a  monkey  who  said  that 
monarchies  are  ruined  by  poverty  and  re 
publics  by  wealth.  And  I  wish  to  observe 
that  when  wealth  becomes  so  aimless  and  so 

73 


An  American  in  New  York 

thoughtless  as  to  be  eccentric  it  is  almost  a 
moral  criminal.  And  with  her  wealth,  is  it 
New  York's  province  to  ruin  the  republic? 
I  know  that  such  questions  are  ancient,  but 
ancient  Commonwealths  were  ruined.  I 
don't  know  what  you  adhere  to,  sir,  but  out 
in  the  'broad-bosomed  air'  of  true  America 
we  still  believe  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul." 

"Crude,"  yawned  the  Doctor. 

"We  believe  in  the  eternal  life  of  the  beau 
tiful." 

"Of  the  prairie-dog,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"Ah,  and  that  is  the  way  you  answer  all 
of  our  arguments,  sir." 

"No,  not  all,"  said  the  Doctor.  "The  fact 
is  that  New  York  doesn't  make  a  pretense 
of  answering  half  of  the  questions  put  to  her 
by — well,  let  us  say,  the  provinces.  And  that 
is  a  term  that  sticks  in  the  crop  of  you  out- 
of-towners.  But  before  you  rage  against 
me,  let  me  ask  if  all  barbarians  who  went  to 
Rome  didn't  criticise  her?" 

"And  let  me  ask  if  all  of  them  didn't  have 


cause i 
it 


But,   Colonel,  haven't  you  made   friends 
in  New  York?" 

74 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Friends?  Sir,  I  haven't  made  even  an 
enemy." 

The  American  strode  out  of  the  room, 
scowled  at  the  dustgirl  who  coughed  pathet 
ically  for  a  tip,  repented,  gave  her  twenty- 
five  cents,  and  went  away  grumbling;  but  his 
mutterings  were  more  like  the  humming  of 
an  old  tune  than  a  complaint,  and  he  went 
out  into  the  street  to  be  jostled  and  shouted 
at  and  to  ponder  over  the  past,  the  sunlight 
on  the  meadow  and  of  the  moon  gleaming 
on  the  path  that  ran  down  to  the  murmuring 
spring,  so  many  years  ago. 


75 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  WIDOW. 

Among  the  guests  at  the  Waldorf  Hotel 
there  was,  of  course,  a  handsome  widow. 
Without  her  no  hotel  could  presume  to  be 
famous.  She  is  almost  as  essential  to  the 
social  success  of  a  hotel  as  to  the  life  and 
thrilling  qualities  of  a  divorce  suit;  and  in 
both  instances  her  beauty  is  enhanced,  if  not 
wholly  created,  by  the  noise  and  the  dust 
kicked  up  by  her  reputed  wealth.  In  certain 
quarters  of  New  York  no  one  of  any  ac 
knowledged  judgment  would  pretend  to  a 
youth  or  complexion  rating  of  a  widow's 
beauty.  This  is  largely  true  of  all  communi 
ties,  but  in  New  York  it  is  not  only  essentially 
but  almost  desperately  true.  There  is  a  brief 
quotation,  not  out  of  a  sacred  book,  but 
evolved  from  man's  profane  experience — 
something  expressive  of  one  not  having  any 
more  show  than  a  cat  in  Hades  without 
claws;  and  in  Gotham  a  moneyless  widow 
who  makes  pretenses  to  beauty  was  heard  to 
declare  that  if  she  were  to  exchange  places 


An  American  in  New  York 

with  the  clawless  cat  she  would  find  food  for 
self-congratulatory  reflection. 

Such  was  the  report  that  had  been  spread 
concerning  her,  every  one  believing  that  a 
handsome  and  rich  widow's  husband  must 
have  been  old  and  wheezy,  but  the  truth  was 
that  about  this  woman's  "man,"  as  they  say 
on  the  prairies,  New  York  knew  next  to  noth 
ing. 

But  this  widow  at  the  Waldorf  was  rich, 
and,  being  rich,  she  was  free;  and,  in  spite  of 
her  position,  she  was  a  woman  of  common- 
sense.  It  may  have  been  that  she  remem 
bered  the  time  when  she  picked  up  chips  to 
keep  her  mother's  washpot  boiling,  and  such 
a  recollection,  even  though  inlaid  with  bitter 
ness  against  the  world,  is  never  wholly  de 
void  of  heart.  This  woman  had  seen  enough 
of  society  to  become  just  a  trifle  weary  of  it 
Scarcely  any  of  its  promises  had  been  kept. 
She  found  that  society  was  a  youth  who  never 
grew  old,  but  who  forced  age  upon  its  vo 
taries. 

When  the  Colonel  strode  across  her  path 
way  she  made  no  disguise  of  the  attractive 
ness  that  he  held  for  her.  She  asked  for  an 
introduction,  and  she  charmed  him  with  a 

77 


An  American  in  New  York 

laugh;  a  studied  impulse  of  melody,  a  musical 
instrument  running  riot  in  the  hands  of  a 
master.  She  saw  the  humor  in  his  repeated 
declaration  that  he  was  an  American  in  New 
York,  and  those  who  believe  that  woman  has 
no  sense  of  humor  have  misjudged  her  char 
acter.  The  difference  between  her  humor 
and  that  of  a  man  is  marked,  it  is  true;  a  man 
sometimes  laughs  at  his  own  misfortunes, 
while  a  woman  never  laughs  genuinely  at 
herself.  The  fact  is  that  woman  has  enough 
to  make  her  serious.  She  has  man,  and  that 
ought  to  hold  her  for  a  while.  The  Colonel 
came  with  his  foibles  pinned  on  his  coat,  like 
a  rose,  she  said.  He  was  so  natural,  so  hu 
morous  in  an  unconscious  way — so  deliciously 
pretentious  in  his  wisdom.  "I  wouldn't  be 
surprised  if  I  ain't  a  little  old-fashioned,"  he 
said;  and  then,  after  a  few  moments  of  re 
flection,  he  added:  uAnd  I  don't  know 
why,  either,  since  I  have  been  revolutionized 
to  the  extent  of  wearing  collars  that  button 
on  the  shirt.  Yes,  and  I  thought  I  was  a  good 
bit  in  fashion  until  I  came  here  and  was  con 
demned  by  the  hollow  eye  of  the  velvet-footed 
importation  from  London,  that  red-breeched 
censure  of  all  laughter,  that  physical  quietus 

78 


BEEN    A    WIDOW    LONG,    MA'AM?" 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  all  Americanism.  I  have  bought  him 
twice,  but,  i'gad,  madam,  he  won't  stay 
bought.  Think  of  living  in  an  atmosphere 
with  the  life  chilled  out  of  it  by  such  a  social 
iceberg.  I'd  rather  drink  boiled  water  and 
breathe  the  mist  of  a  geyser.  If  they  want 
real  servants  why  don't  they  get  a  few  train- 
loads  of  darkies  from  the  South?  But  I  beg 
your  pardon.  It  doesn't  behoove  a  man  to 
go  abroad  and  criticise  the  ancient  'customs 
of  the  people.  Been  a  widow  very  long, 
ma'am?" 

She  shrugged  her  graceful  shoulders. 
"Perhaps  it  doesn't  seem  so  long  as  it  is." 

"Oh !  And  I  take  it,  then,  that  you  must 
be  enjoying  yourself  fairly  well."  And  when 
she  had  prettily  nodded  at  him  he  added: 
"I  reckon  that  in  this  day  of  topsyturviness 
it  puts  a  woman  out  a  good  deal  to  marry  for 
love.  Rather  gone  out  of  style,  but,  come 
to  look  at  it  closer,  it  never  was  a  rage.  Some 
of  the  oldest  books  tell  us  that  women  have 
ceased  to  marry  for  love.  But  I  reckon  they 
make  less  pretense  now  than  ever  before." 

"Some  women  marry  for  freedom,"  she 
said,  and  he  gave  her  a  quick  look. 

"You  don't  tell  me?  But  I  shouldn't  think 

79 


An  American  in  New  York 

that  the  freedom  could  be  anything  to  speak 
of  until  the  obstructions  are  cleared  away.  I 
take  it,  however,  that  she  makes  it  a  sort  of 
a  point  to  see  in  the  first  place  that  the  ob 
structions  ain't  very  likely  to  last  long.  Yes, 
marriage  on  the  part  of  ^  oman  requires  some 
little  judgment.  And  don't  you  think  it 
would  be  an  advance  in  the  proper  direction 
if,  instead  of  sounding  him  as  to  character, 
she'd  get  the  opinion  of  a  physician  as  to  his 
probable  hold  on  things  down  here?" 

"Colonel,  you  aren't  so  old-fashioned.  But 
supposing  that  you  are,  don't  you  know  that 
it  is  a  positive  charm  to  meet  an  old-fashioned 
man?  He  comes  like  a  forgotten  romance, 
and  his  spirit  is  refreshing  and  sometimes  his 
words  are  wise.  Did  you  think  that  all  New 
York  women  are  materialists?" 

"I  thought  it  took  a  good  deal  of  material 
to  fit  'em  out.  No,  I  must  say  that  I  am 
strongly  impressed  by  them.  I  always  un 
derstood  from  what  I'd  read  that  a  woman, 
in  order  to  be  anything  in  what  is  called  the 
best  society,  must  be  marked  not  only  by  a 
lack  of  thought  but  by  a  positive  silliness. 
But  I  reckon  it  requires  about  as  much  sense 
to  be  a  leader  among  women  as  among  men. 
80 


An  American  in  New  York 

It's  no  light  thing  to  carry  a  social  primary. 
And  you've  got  to  look  out  for  the  highflyers 
that  intimidate  the  polls  with  their  wealth. 
At  any  sort  of  election  a  financial  heeler  is  a 
dangerous  article.  Out  in  some  of  the  West 
ern  States  the  women  vote.  That  is  a  bold 
advance  in  Americanism,  and  I  am  free  to 
say  that  I  regard  it  not  only  as  a  bold  but 
as  a  proper  advance." 

"And  do  the  women  hold  office  out  there?" 
she  inquired. 

"Oh,  yes;  and  why  shouldn't  they,  when 
they  are  the  shrewdest  of  politicians?  I  know 
one,  a  judge,  whose  decisions  have  a  high 
rating;  and,  but  for  one  thing,  she  might  at 
tain  to  the  Supreme  Bench." 

"And  what  is  that  one  obstacle,  Colonel?" 

"Madam,  she  is  inclined  to  be  a  flirt;  and 
out  there,  where  they  adhere  to  common-law 
practice,  a  flirtatious  judge  is  hardly  the 
proper  thing.  Blackstone,  in  all  the  marvel 
ous  sweep  of  his  Commentaries,  didn't  con 
template  such  a  thing.  Hearts  are  constantly 
on  trial  before  this  woman  judge,  and,  after 
all,  a  good  heart  means  innocence.  Serious 
ly,  though,  I  believe  that  the  one  who  makes 
the  home  ought  to  be  permitted  to  vote.  No 
81 


An  American  in  New  York 

matter  how  prosperous  a  man  may  be — how 
much  money  he  brings  into  the  house — he 
can't  make  a  home.  That  highest  of  all 
offices  depends  upon  the  woman.  And  surely 
the  home  ought  to  have  a  voice." 

She  smiled  at  him.  "Colonel,  I  am  in 
clined  to  think  that  your  conviction  comes 
from  your  gallantry  rather  than  your  observa 
tion.  You  really  don't  believe  that  women 
ought  to  vote,  do  you?" 

"Madam,  that  is  my  conviction — when  I 
am  talking  to  them.  And  why  not? 
Wouldn't  their  dainty  opinions  perfume  the 
ballot-box?" 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  for  a 
moment  it  seemed  that  the  words,  the  man 
ner  and  the  voice  of  this  old-timer  were  about 
to  make  her  serious.  But  she  laughed  and 
said  that  it  was  like  a  play,  thus  to  be  talking 
to  him,  "and  I  have  been  afraid  that  soon  I 
should  hear  the  ting  of  the  bell,  calling  down 
the  curtain,"  she  said.  "My  life,  here  in 
this  great  whirlpool  of  seething  counter  cur 
rents?  Haven't  you  found  it  many  a  time  in 
newspapers  and  in  books?  Aren't  they  full 
of  tragedies?" 

"Yes,  but  not  to  the  exclusion  of  comedies, 
82 


An  American  in  New  York 

and,  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  thought  you 
were  playing  a  comedy  part — ahem — pluck 
ing  out  hearts  and  laughing  musically  at 
them — a  musical  comedy." 

"Oh,  and  how  in  keeping  would  it  be  if  I 
should  smile  sadly  and  sigh  and  tell  you  of 
a  soul  starving  for  companionship."  The 
Colonel  grunted  a  sort  of  "hump,"  looking 
steadily  at  her,  and  after  a  time  he  said:  "I 
understand  that  you  own  a  magnificent 
house."  She  nodded  assent.  "Then  why 
don't  you  live  in  it?"  She  cried  out  that  the 
idea  was  preposterous.  "This  is  not  quite 
the  season,"  she  said,  "and  the  people  are 
out  of  town." 

"Is  that  so?  Why,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  town  was  full  of  folks." 

"Oh,  yes,  folks,  but  not  the  people.  And, 
besides,  it  wouldn't  be  living  in  New  York  if 
I  had  to  stay  in  my  own  house  all  the  time. 
Even  in  season  it  would  on  occasion  be  but 
little  better  than  a  banishment  compared 
with  life  in  the  Waldorf.  Here  we  have 
Paris,  London " 

"And  a  mere  suggestion  of  America,"  the 
Colonel  broke  in. 

'Yes,   and  what  does  one  wish  more  of 

83 


An  American  in  New  York 

America  than  a  mere  suggestion,  once  in  a 
while?  So  representative  of  Chicago,  with 
its  muddy  feet,  America  is,  you  know." 

"Madam,  you  ought  to  meet  some  of  the 
women  voters  of  the  West." 

"No,  thank  you.  They  might  ask  too 
many  questions." 

"Ah,"  said  the  Colonel,  "they  might  ask 
questions  that  you  would  not  be  able  to  an 


swer." 


"Oh,"  she  shrugged,  "and  a  child  can  do 
that."  And  then  for  a  time  they  were  silent. 
To  him  it  seemed  that  she  had  suddenly  lost 
some  of  her  moral  bloom,  but  he  was  not  so 
simple  as  to  tell  her  so;  he  had  felt  that  in 
the  endeared  old  fashion  he  would  like  to 
talk  to  her  the  sentimental  extravaganzas  of 
the  romantic  South,  and  to  catch  glimpses  of 
what  he  must  have  regarded  as  a  new  soul, 
as  startling  as  any  that  ancient  philosophy 
sought  to  uncover;  but  she  was  too  elusive. 
She  had  seen  his  nature,  for  of  that  he  could 
make  no  disguise,  could  find  no  garment 
through  which  it  would  not  throw  its  impul 
sive  rays,  but  in  baffling  reserve  she  had  kept 
her  own  real  impulses  and  opinions,  giving 
him  but  a  moment's  view,  a  shadow-dance, 


An  American  in  New  York 

stimulating  him,  disappointing  him;  and 
against  himself  he  was  beginning  to  work  up 
a  resentment  and  an  anger  when  she  said: 
"I  suppose  that  out  in  America  they  have 
learned  by  this  time  to  ask  the  question,  'Is 
life  worth  living?'  ' 

"Out  there,  madam,  we  are  trying  to  make 
life  not  only  worth  living  but  worth  working 
for.  Upon  us  there  has  not  as  yet  come  the 
dotage  of  too  much  inherited  money.  Life 
still  offers  the  prize  to  achievement,  as  it  did 
in  the  days  of  Pericles,  and 

"And,"  she  interrupted,  shutting  him  off 
in  his  grandiloquence,  "you  follow  the  old 
injunction  that  the  humorists  tell  us  was  hung 
up  in  the  music  hall :  'Please  don't  shoot  the 
pianner  player;  he's  doin'  the  best  he  kin.'  ' 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  joke  has  been  for 
gotten  out  there,  but  for  retaining  old  jokes 
on  the  West,  New  York  has  a  marvelous 
memory.  A  thousand  truths  might  be  written 
of  our  advancement,  and  your  people  could 
not  remember  one  of  them."  It  seemed  to 
him  that  she  "smiled"  him  away  from  her, 
and  when  he  was  gone  he  said  to  himself,  "I 
tried  to  play  wise  with  her,  but  I'll  bet  she 
thinks  I'm  a  fool." 

85 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AT  THE  GRAND  OPERA. 

The  Colonel  had  made  preparations  to  re 
turn  home,  had  bought  his  sleeper  ticket,  had 
lost  it,  and  this  was  as  far  as  he  had  advanced 
toward  his  ultimate  departure.  In  places 
where  he  was  not  likely  to  have  dropped  the 
bit  of  cardboard  he  made  diligent  search, 
and  in  searching  he  lost  several  bundles  that 
he  had  bought  to  serve  as  a  surprise  and  a 
delight  at  home.  The  worst  city  to  lose 
things  in  he  ever  saw  in  all  his  life,  he  said; 
to  San  Francisco  he  had  been  a  number  of 
times,  but  had  never  lost  anything.  Some 
one  humorously  remarked  that  his  recent 
losses  were  but  a  natural  expense  devolving 
upon  a  visit  to  New  York,  and  to  this  he 
readily  agreed.  "I  think  that  I'd  better  put 
on  a  yellow  linen  duster,"  said  he,  "have  my 
self  marked  on  the  back,  and  go  home  by 
freight  like  a  ham."  He  was  passing 
through  the  Turkish  room  as  he  made  this 
observation,  and  a  member  of  the  company 
assembled  therein,  the  widow,  told  him  to  put 
86 


An  American  in  New  York 

by  his  useless  worry  and  to  grant  them  the 
favor  of  his  presence.  He  halted,  forgot  his 
ticket  and  his  bundles,  smiled  at  the  widow, 
said  that  she  did  him  proud,  and  sat  down. 
The  Doctor,  who  was  also  one  of  the  com 
pany,  remarked,  "We  missed  you  last  night, 
Colonel,"  and  the  old  gentleman  replied, 
"And  I  might  say,  sir,  that  I  missed  myself. 
I  went  to  a  grand  opera." 

"And  did  you  enjoy  it?"  the  widow  in 
quired. 

The  Colonel  cleared  his  throat.  "All  dur 
ing  my  life  I  have  been  a  lover  of  music. 
Many  years  ago,  in  New  Orleans,  I  met  old 
Sandy  Faulkner,  author  of  the  dialogue  and 
the  tune  of  the  Arkansaw  Traveler.  Such 
was  my  devotion  to  music  that  I  let  my  boat 
leave  me,  after  I  had  purchased  my  ticket, 
and  called  at  the  hotel  to  see  him.  At  that 
time  he  was  thought  to  be  one  of  America's 
greatest  composers.  Several  other  gentle 
men  were  present,  and  we  asked  him  to  play 
his  favorite  tune.  That  is  the  way  to  honor 
a  composer,  I  believe;  and  he  played  for  us 
a  most  ringing  jig,  and  it  was  music.  I  could 
see  the  moon  on  the  hill,  while  down  in  the 
valley  the  dogs  wallowed  a  coon — a  raccoon, 

8? 


An  American  in  New  York 

madam.  With  his  fiddle  he  brought  out  the 
verdure  of  the  forest,  the  buds  and  then  the 
leaves;  and,  chilling  his  air,  he  nipped  them 
all  with  a  frost,  and  the  woods  were  bare. 
He  made  the  creek  babble  or  he  froze  it  up ; 
in  short,  he  was  the  master  of  conditions  and 
of  seasons  while  his  fiddle  was  beneath  his 
chin. 

"But  last  night  it  was  different.  Sir,  I  had 
gone  expecting  to  be  transported.  I  expected 
that  the  stars  from  abroad  would  lift  me  up 
to  their  planetary  zone,  but  I  may  say  that 
they  didn't.  I  was  not  only  disappointed,  but 
amazedly  so.  Now,  art  is  art  because  it 
must  remind  us  pleasantly  of  something  that 
does,  or  at  least  could,  exist  in  nature.  But 
could  any  one  conceive  that  two  men,  wrought 
up  in  anger  to  the  point  of  cutting  each 
other's  throats — could  you  see  how  they  could 
halt  to  wring  and  twist  and  bellow  their 
quarrel  before  they  act?  Would  any  sem 
blance  of  natural  passion,  seeking  to  impart 
to  an  adversary  that  he  was  a  liar,  strut  away 
from  him,  gasp,  wheel  around,  kick  his  dan 
gling  sword  out  of  his  way,  sneeze,  blow  his 
angered  nose,  and  catching  the  eye  of  a  fel 
low  whose  business  it  was  to  make  motions 
88 


An  American  in  New  York 

with  a  short  stick,  call  his  enemy  a  li-li-li-ho- 
ho-er-liar?  That's  absurd,  and  I  may  say 
that  there's  no  music  in  it." 

"But,  Colonel,  the  Anglo-Saxon  is  not 
noted  as  a  lover  of  the  highest  form  of 
music,"  said  the  widow. 

"Well— er,"  he  hemmed,  "not  of  the  high- 
est  form  of  howling  or  of  the  deepest  degree 
of  bellowing.  I  would  much  rather  be  sung 
to  sleep  than  shouted  into  antagonism,  for 
in  one  music  has  exercised  a  true  province, 
while  in  the  other  it  has  departed  wholly 
from  the  road  and  gone  wild-haired  through 
the  woods.  Occasionally,  last  night,  there 
was  an  oasis  of  melody,  a  patch  of  ripening 
wheat,  yellow  and  rich  in  the  midst  of  a 
great  drought,  but  for  the  most  part  I  was 
harrowed,  and  it  seemed  that  there  was  al 
most  constantly  a  dust  in  the  air." 

"Why,  Colonel,"  cried  the  widow,  "I  am 
astonished  at  you.  The  symphony  is  a 
poem." 

"Ah,  and,  madam,  written  in  a  language 
that  no  one  can  properly  translate.  Now,  I 
wonder  what  I  could  have  done  with  that 
sleeper  ticket.  There  is  too  much  pretense 
in  it.  You've  got  to  work  yourself  up  to  a 


An  American  in  New  York 

supposed  understanding  of  it.  If  it  were  a 
poem  or  a  real  art  it  would  mean  practically 
the  same  to  all  of  its  votaries.  But  it  doesn't. 
They  tell  you  of  the  theme.  A  villain  has 
murdered  a  girl,  princess  or  peasant,  one  or 
the  other — for  in  art  there  must  be  no  middle 
class — and  is  telling  himself  about  it.  And 
when  this  has  been  given  out  by  the  man  who 
is  accepted  as  the  one  who  knows,  all  accept 
his  explanation.  They  hear  the  shrieks  of 
the  girl,  the  bark  of  the  watchdog  on  the  hill, 
and  they  listen  with  sweet  shudders  to  the 
regret  of  the  murderer.  But  before  I  was  told 
what  it  meant  I  thought  that  I  heard  a  saw 
striking  an  occasional  knot.  The  fact  is,  that 
sort  of  music  isn't  American. 

"I  well  recall  an  old  fellow  who  came  down 
to  the  Arkansas  Legislature.  He  lived  fifty 
miles  from  a  railroad  and  was  elected  because 
the  people  thought  he  was  honest.  As  is 
usual  with  all  backwoods  communities,  the 
people  of  his  section  fancied  that  the  capital 
city  had  no  other  aim  in  life  than  to  grind 
down  or  wholly  ignore  the  rural  neighbor 
hood.  So  they  said  to  him,  'Uncle  Bill,  you 
are  old  enough  to  know  the  world.  Go  down 
there  and  keep  them  scoundrels  in  line/  He 
90 


An  American  in  New  York 

was  old  enough  to  know  the  world,  but  he 
had  read  no  book  and  had  never  been  out  of 
the  county.  But  that  made  no  difference,  for 
to  the  simple-minded  mere  age  means  wis 
dom.  He  said,  'Boys,  let  me  get  at  'em,1  and 
he  took  his  shoes  in  his  hand,  walked  to  the 
railroad,  sat  down  on  a  log,  put  them  on, 
and  waited  till  the  train  came  along.  There 
was  a  great  commotion  when  he  arrived  at 
the  capital,  but  soon  he  discovered  that  he 
was  not  the  cause  of  it.  No  attention  was 
paid  to  him  other  than  to  any  other  obscure 
member,  and  day  after  day  he  sat  at  his  desk, 
saying  nothing.  One  day,  some  one  who 
had  heard  of  him,  of  his  little  cabin  on  the 
hillside  and  his  primitive  life,  asked  him  how 
he  was  getting  along,  and  in  a  confused  way, 
passing  his  hand  over  his  face,  he  said,  'Why, 
my  son,  I'm  just  a  drawin'  of  my  per  diem 
and  a  fallin'  back,  that's  all.'  And  that  was 
all;  so,  day  after  day,  he  continued  thus  to  sit 
there,  never  so  much  as  getting  in  a  motion 
to  adjourn,  while  out  in  his  settlement  the 
voters  sat  about  the  store  and  discussed  him, 
their  endeared  disappointment. 

"But  one  day  while  the  old  man  sat  at  his 
desk,  dreaming,  there  came  in  a  railroad  bill 


An  American  in  New  York 

that  did  directly  interest  his  county,  and 
without  enough  of  parliamentary  procedure 
to  say  'Mr.  Speaker,'  he  cried  out,  'Hold  on 
there  a  minute/  And  then  he  arose  slowly 
and  he  stood  bent,  for  the  most  of  his  life  had 
been  given  to  the  back-breaking  work  of  set 
ting  out  tobacco  plants.  But  gradually  he 
began  to  straighten  and  to  talk,  hesitatingly 
at  first  as  if  he  were  fumbling  for  his  words, 
and  he  reminded  me  of  a  farmer  sorting  out 
his  seed  potatoes,  selecting  and  rejecting;  but 
after  a  time  he  forgot  to  fumble,  and  words 
in  a  graceful  and  impressive  torrent  came 
pouring  upon  his  mind,  words  that  doubtless 
he  had  never  heard  before,  but  they  came  by 
inspiration  and  were  in  the  right  place.  His 
eyes  blazed  and  from  his  fingers  he  seemed  to 
pop  off  serpents  of  fire,  and  everybody  looked 
on  amazed,  the  Speaker  and  the  rest,  leaning 
toward  him.  It  was  as  if  the  spirit  of  one 
of  the  ancient  orators  had  returned  to  the 
earth  to  sport  with  common  mortals,  but  the 
spirit  was  impatient  to  be  off  again,  for  the 
fire  died  out  of  his  eyes,  leaving  cold  ashes 
in  them,  and  he  humped  over  and  sat  down 
again.  But  the  bill  was  dead.  There,  ladies 
92 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  gentlemen,  was  something  above  all  art. 
It  was  inspiration." 

"Yes,"  said  the  widow,  "but  we  can't  all 
of  us  be  inspired,  and,  besides,  we  aren't  in  a 
position  to  kill  bills.  And  those  of  us  who 
can't  be  inspired  must  resort  to  the  arts  that 
the  commonplace  may  learn."  And  when 
thus  she  spoke  there  was  in  her  voice  a  pa 
thetic  note,  the  Colonel  thought,  and  feeling 
that  he  had  overpowered  her  he  bowed  and 
replied,  "Ah,  my  dear  madam,  but  some 
women  are  always  inspirations,  poems,  odes 
and  sonnets,  and  surely  you  have  need  to  be 
thankful  to  Nature,  no  matter  what  cultiva 
tion  may  have  done  for  you,"  and  she  gave 
to  him  a  smile  that  was  a  full  reward,  and  in 
his  mind  he  was  searching  for  a  compliment 
when  some  one,  passing  through  the  room, 
caused  him  to  scramble  out  of  his  chair;  and 
grasping  a  man  by  the  hand,  he  cried  with 
the  mellowness  of  a  bass-noted  foxhound, 
"Why,  my  dear  Judge,  how  are  you?  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  this  is  my  friend,  the  Judge, 
from  Idaho.  Sit  right  down.  You  don't 
know  how  delighted  I  am  to  see  you,  and,  ah, 
you  come  like  a  season  of  old,  full  of  recol 
lection.  Remember  when  we  had  that  hunt- 

93 


An  American  in  New  York 

ing  club  down  in  Mississippi?  We  had  a 
long  dog,  and  we  used  him  for  a  pillow  at 
night  when  we  slept  with  our  feet  to  the  fire. 
Recollect?" 

The  Judge  recollected,  and  they  shook  each 
other's  hands  and  mused  over  those  happy 
times.  "And  I  remember,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"that  one  night,  while  we  were  sleeping 
peacefully,  Bob  Logan — you  know  he  had 
complained  that  the  dog  would  have  to  be 
lengthened  or  the  club  reduced — wanted  to 
trade  him  off  for  a  dachshund — Bob,  he  was 
snoring,  you  may  well  believe,  when  the  dog, 
who  must  have  been  dreaming,  began  to 
scratch,  and  Bob  cried  out,  'Whoa,  there ! 
Hold  on,  boys,  my  horse  has  flung  me  in  a 
brier  patch.'  Ah,  there  couldn't  have  been 
happier  days.  And  do  you  remember  when 
we  elected  you  police  justice  in  Memphis? 
The  votes  were  counted  by  a  stuttering  man 
and  we  got  you  in,  and,  as  I  remember  it, 
your  first  case  was  that  of  an  old  negro 
preacher  known  as  Slue-Footed  Dan.  It 
appears  that  his  congregation  had  raised 
money  and  had  given  it  to  him  to  expend  in 
the  purchase  of  hymn-books;  and  as  soon  as 
he  got  off  the  train  in  Memphis  a  yellow 

94 


An  American  in  New  York 

darky  made  a  break  for  him,  recognizing 
him  as  the  proper  meat,  took  him  behind  a 
cotton  shed,  shot  a  few  craps  with  him,  and 
got  his  money.  Dan  went  home  penitent, 
confessed  to  his  people,  was  forgiven,  fitted 
out  again  and  sent  back  to  get  the  books; 
and  as  soon  as  he  got  off  the  train  the  same 
yellow  fellow  came  after  him.  Dan  carried 
a  long  green  umbrella  shut  up  and  tied  with 
a  shoestring,  and  when  the  crapshooter  came 
within  reach  Dan  hauled  off  and  with  the 
umbrella  knocked  him  down — nearly  killed 
him;  and,  as  the  police  were  taking  the 
preacher  up  to  the  station,  I  asked  him  how 
he  had  managed  to  strike  such  a  blow  with 
an  umbrella.  A  grin  spread  over  his  face  as 
he  replied,  'Dar's  a  stove  leg  shet  up  in  dat 
umbrella,  honey.'  And  how  is  your  good 
wife,  Judge?" 

"The  one  you  knew,  Colonel,  has  passed 
away." 

"Oh,  indeed.  Well,  how  is  she,  anyway; 
it  doesn't  make  any  difference  which  one  ?  In 
politics,  as  some  of  your  others  were?" 

"Well,  not  at  present.  Some  of  the  ladies 
thought  of  sending  her  to  the  Legislature,  but 
changed  their  minds,  not  only  characteristic 

95 


An  American  in  New  York 

of  female  but  of  male  politics  as  well.  Have 
you  been  here  long  enough,  Colonel,  to  form 
an  estimate  of  these  claims?" 

"Judge,  I  have  been  here  long  enough 
to " 

"To  find  fault  with  everything,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "We  didn't  know  that  we  were  so 
frail  until  the  Colonel  came  and  told  us.  But 
we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  New  York  has 
profited  by  his  visit." 

"Richer  by  many  a  necessary  tip,  sir. 
Judge,  if  you  haven't  already  done  so,  find 
that  English  flunkey,  give  all  youVe  got,  and 
ask  him  to  let  you  remain  in  his  town  for  a 
brief  season.  You  have  doubtless  inferred  in 
your  ignorance  that  the  Mayor  is  in  some  lit 
tle  authority  here,  but  it  is  a  mistake.  He  is 
a  mere  sufferance.  All  of  the  perquisites  be 
long  to  the  waiter.  If  you  cannot  elicit  an  ap 
proving  nod  from  him  go  home.  He  thinks 
that  this  is  a  British  colony,  sir,  and  he's  not 
half-way  wrong.  *  *  By  George,  here's 
that  ticket,"  he  cried  out,  "and  I  still  have 
time  to  catch  the  train.  Good-by." 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    VII. 

SAMMY. 

The  Colonel  had  tipped  the  fellow  who 
brought  down  his  baggage  and  was  standing 
at  the  door  waiting  for  a  cab  when  up  rushed 
a  young  man  and  seized  him  with  both  hands. 
With  a  suppressed  roar  the  American  tore 
himself  loose,  but  a  moment  later  he  dropped 
his  bundles  and  with  Western  heartiness 
shook  the  new-comer.  He  called  upon  the 
Lord  to  witness  the  fact  that  never  before 
was  he  ever  so  glad  to  see  anyone;  he 
garbled  out  his  handkerchief  and  made  play 
ful  pretense  of  tying  the  young  yellow's  hands 
with  it;  said  that  he  was  going  to  handcuff 
him  and  take  him  away;  he  demanded  ex 
planations  as  to  the  unexpected  meeting  and 
would  not  wait  for  them  to  be  given;  within 
two  minutes  he  called  the  young  fellow 
Sammy  a  dozen  times,  as  if  it  were  an  in 
vestment  to  be  increased  with  repetition,  and 
then  he  threw  himself  back  and  roared  with 
laughter.  In  no  land  is  a  history  briefer  than 
in  the  West  and  Sammy  had  a  Western  his- 

97 


An  American  in  New  York 

tory.  His  father  at  one  time  was  marshal  of 
a  town  in  Montana.  One  night,  while  striv 
ing  to  discharge  his  duty,  that  is,  while  trying 
to  kill  a  desperate  chap  named  Brux,  he  was 
fatally  shot.  The  marshal  was  breathing  his 
last  when  the  Colonel  arrived. 

"I'm  going,"  he  said. 

The  Colonel  took  his  hand.  "It's  bad  to 
go  now,  Ned,  for  you  haven't  been  here  over 
long.  Do  you  want  to  send  the  little  fellow 
to  any  one?" 

"No;  you  take  him." 

The  Colonel  took  the  child  and  in  affection 
became  his  father.  In  the  West  time  is  as 
short  as  history.  Amid  the  black  smoke  of 
the  mines  there  are  no  seasons,  no  springs 
with  promises,  no  summers  with  fruition,  no 
autumns  when  men  halt  to  muse  over  the 
passing  years,  but  all  is  a  day  and  a  night, 
and  it  was  but  a  day  and  a  night,  it  seemed, 
before  there  arose  the  question  of  the  boy's 
education.  So,  he  was  sent  to  a  school  in  the 
Middle  West.  Once  while  he  was  at  home 
during  vacation  the  Colonel  gathered  from 
him  that  it  was  his  intention  to  write  blood- 
smeared  stories,  and  as  this  seemed  to  be  but 
natural,  the  adopted  father  did  not  discour- 


An  American  in  New  York 

age  it.  "But  I'd  a  little  rather,"  said  he, 
"that  you  would  hire  out  as  a  section  hand  on 
a  railroad."  The  youngster  made  no  reply, 
but  in  his  silence  the  Colonel  saw  determina 
tion,  and  had  settled  it  in  his  own  mind  that 
the  boy  was  to  be  an  imitator  of  Ned  Bunt- 
line,  and  therefore  was  not  prepared  for  the 
news  some  time  later,  that  the  forecast  had 
been  shifted  and  that  the  young  fellow  had 
made  up  to  the  notion  of  becoming  an  elec 
trical  engineer.  This  was  adhered  to;  he 
was  graduated  from  Armour  Institute,  had 
gone  with  a  party  to  work  in  Mexico,  in  which 
country  the  Colonel  thought  he  was  living  un 
til  suddenly  they  met  at  the  outer  portals  of 
the  Waldorf. 

"And  now  I  want  to  know  what  the  deuce 
you  are  doing  here?" 

The  young  fellow  blushed.  "I  can't  tell 
you  right  out,  dad;  it's  something  that  has  to 
be  led  up  to.  If  we  could  sit  down  for  a  few 
moments  I " 

"Most  unfortunate,  Sammy.  I've  got  my 
sleeper  ticket  and — now  what  in  the  name  of 
common  sense  did  I  do  with  that — that  in 
fernal  ticket?  It's  harder  to  hold  than  any — 
any  damned  eel.  Well,  if  that  don't  beat  any- 

99 


An  American  in  New  York 

thing  I  ever  saw."  He  began  to  search  him 
self.  "Hump!" 

"Sleeper  ticket?" 

"Yes — lower  birth,  right  over  the  wheels, 
too,  I  bet  you.  I  put  it  into  this  pocket  and 
fearing  that  it  would  not  stay  there,  I  changed 
it  over  to  this  one." 

"Isn't  that  it?" 

The  Colonel  had  fished  out  a  bit  of  paper. 
"No,  sir,  it's  a  seat  check  to  an  opera,  and  as 
tiresome  a  show  as  I  ever  saw.  Let  me  see." 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  haven't  time  to 
get  that  train  now.  Hump !  Fate  must  have 
something  to  do  with  this  thing,  for  it  has 
been  impossible  for  me  to  hold  that  ticket. 
Well,  I  don't  know  anything  wiser  than  to 
let  fate  have  her  way.  Let's  go  in  here." 

They  went  into  the  cafe  and  were  seated 
when  the  Colonel  suddenly  bethought  him 
that  he  had  left  his  bags  and  his  bundles 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  outer 
door.  With  a  roar,  as  if  he  saw  thieves 
carrying  them  off,  he  rushed  forth,  leaving 
a  scallop  of  smiles  behind  him,  upturned 
parentheses  on  the  faces  of  the  guests,  the 
young  fellow  mused  as  he  looked  about  him. 
A  man  in  all  the  aspects  of  an  accepted  gen- 
100 


An  American  in  Ne\ty  York"'  : 

tleman  came  up,  bowing,  and  said:  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  but  is  that  Senator 

uNo,  sir,"  Sammy  broke  in.  "He  is  not 
a  senator,  but  could  have  been." 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

"What  for?  For  coming  over?  Glad  to 
see  you.  Sit  down." 

"No,  I  thank  you."  But  he  continued  to 
stand  there.  "I  was  about  to  say  that  I  must 
have  seen  you — in  Mexico." 

"You  have  said  it." 

"Yes,  but  as  I  see  your  friend  coming — 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

Some  of  the  Westerners  seem  to  think  that 
in  New  York,  in  order  to  avoid  the  appear 
ance  of  conspicuous  rawness,  begging  pardon 
is  an  essential.  The  New  Yorkers  bring  it 
from  London.  The  Londoners  get  it  from 
waiters  and  its  origin  can  be  traced  to  hard 
ness  of  hearing  and  so  simply  means  "I  don't 
understand  what  you  said." 

The  intruder  withdrew  before  the  Colonel 
came  up.  Sammy  sat  gazing  across  the  room. 
"Got  my  same  bunk  again  up  stairs,"  said  the 
American,  sitting  down.  "They  wanted  to 
charge  me  fifty  cents  more  a  day  for  it,  as 
another  guest  had  arrived,  and  I  was  squar- 
101 


I  An  American  in  New  York 

ing  myself  for  a  speech  when  the  fifty  cents 
fell  off  like  a  drop  of  water.  They  say  that 
oratory  is  dead,  and  I  reckon  that's  the  reason 
these  New  Yorkers  are  afraid  of  it.  We'll 
give  Chesterfield  our  order  and  then  you  may 
have  at  me  with  your  explanation." 

The  order  was  given  and  the  Colonel  sat 
looking  at  Sammy,  to  note,  it  seemed,  the 
changes  that  must  have  taken  place  within  the 
past  two  years,  but  with  the  exception  of  a 
certain  seriousness  that  always  adds  some 
thing  to  the  countenance  of  youth,  he  found 
no  alteration.  He  might  well  have  been 
termed  a  young  man  of  to-day,  which  may 
mean  nothing  at  all,  but  which  might  mean 
a  great  deal.  On  the  top  of  his  head  his 
sandyish  hair  had  begun  to  show  what  self- 
congratulation  may  make  a  strain  of  calling 
a  thoughtful  thinness.  His  brow  was  broad 
and  full,  his  eyes  were  of  that  cast  which  the 
gulch  man,  who  studies  such  things,  might 
term  a  dangerous  gray,  and  his  mouth  was 
cut  straight  across.  At  present  he  was  of  an 
age  to  be  taken  in  the  West  for  a  gentlemanly 
gambler,  with  no  lack  of  nerve;  and  a  few 
years  older,  he  would  have  been  "sized"  as 
a  successful  politician.  A  reaper  in  the  har- 
102 


An  American  in  New  York 

vest  field  of  experience,  he  bound  up  his 
sheaves  gracefully.  His  wild  oats  had  been 
cut,  and  garnered  in  a  jail  at  Deadwood,  but 
as  it  was  just  a  plain  knock-down  and  drag- 
out,  the  judge  complimented  him  upon  the 
quickness  of  his  muscle  and  sent  a  congratu 
latory  letter  to  the  Colonel.  His  early  desire 
to  write  romances  could  not  be  taken  as  a 
plea  for  superior  intelligence,  but  his  deter 
mination  to  become  an  electrical  engineer 
argued  that  at  least  he  was  practical,  which, 
perhaps,  is  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  that 
can  fall  to  modern  man.  Since  we  are  not 
permitted  to  go  forth  and  pull  out  a  usurer's 
teeth  when  we  need  money,  a  reformation  in 
the  wrong  direction,  I  am  sometimes  con 
strained  to  believe,  we  must  labor,  and,  forced 
down  to  employment,  it  is  well  to  choose  the 
interesting  and  the  profitable.  Compelled  to 
do  the  work  that  is  wearisome,  we  are  but 
the  felons  of  circumstance,  the  convicts  of 
necessity.  Sammy  had  a  fondness  for  his 
employment  and  what  could  be  a  greater 
favor  of  the  gods. 

"Well?"  said  the  Colonel. 

Sammy  withdrew  his  gaze  from  across  the 
room,  looked  at  the  Colonel  and  remarked: 
103 


An  American  in  New  York 
'Dad,   I'm  here  because   I  haven't  got  any 


sense." 


"Oh.  But  as  old  Sam  Johnson  said,  'Of 
what  is  the  use  of  a  disguise  when  nothing 
is  concealed?'  Tell  me  something  else — 
something  that  I  might  not  already  have  sus 
pected." 

"I'm  here  because  I'm  a  fool." 

"So  am  I.     But  go  ahead." 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  laugh  at  me." 

"If  I  do  it  will  show  that  I'm  not  put  out 
with  you.  Go  ahead." 

"Don't  rush  me,  dad.  In  the  life  of  man 
you  know  there  comes  a  time  when " 

"When  he  rises  to  the  gauze  fly  and  is 
hooked." 

"By — the  deuce,  do  I  show  it  that  plainly?" 

"What's  her  name?" 

"I  don't  know — I  haven't  found  out. 
There  never  was  a  bigger  fool  trick,  but  it 
was  this  way.  But  our  affairs  hadn't  panned 
out  and  I  was  ready  to  come  back  any  way. 
You  see  I'm  trying  to  let  myself  down." 

The  Colonel  sat  with  his  elbow  on  the  table, 

looking  at  him.     The  young  fellow  twisted 

his  napkin.     The  Colonel  reached  over,  took 

it  from  him,  laughed  and  remarked  that  they 

104 


An  American  in  New  York 

were  not  now  in  the  eating  house  at  Grand 
Junction. 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Caught  it  already,  begging  pardon,  but 
go  ahead  with  what  you  wouldn't  rather 
say." 

"Well,  we  went  into  the  City  of  Mexico  to 
take  the  train.  At  the  hotel  that  night — I 
mean  the  night  I  was  there,  you  under 
stand?" 

"Of  course.  The  night  you  weren't  there 
doesn't  count." 

"There  was  a  ball.  Remember  the  Mexican 
Band?  It  played  La — La  something,  I  have 
forgotten  the  name.  I've  forgotten  almost 
everything  except — her.  I  didn't  see  her  un 
til  she  spoke,  and  then  I  shouldn't  have  looked 
'round  but  my  blood  began  to  tingle,  and  I 
wanted 'to  know  why.  She  didn't  strike  me 
as  being  beautiful,  but  it  seemed  that  when 
ever  she  spoke  they  were  lighting  waxen 
tapers,  in  all  colors;  and  when  I  looked  down 
and  found  a  blossom  lying  on  the  floor,  I 
thought  that  she  had  dropped  one  of  her 
words." 

The  Colonel  wiped  his  eyes.  "I  thank  you 
105 


An  American  in  New  York 

for  showing  me  that  you  have  a  soul,"  he 
said. 

uNo,  I  haven't  any  soul.  It  is  all  her  own. 
When  she  looks  at  anything  it  has  a  soul. 
She  is  a  creator  of  souls.  I  wish  I  could 
make  you  see  her,  but  I  can't.  You  wouldn't 
be  swept  away  by  her,  however,  until  she 
spoke.  You  remember  that  the  book  tells  us 
of  Moses  smiting  the  rock.  The  thirsty  peo 
ple  stood  about  when  he  smote  and  out 
gushed  the  water,  and  the  music  must  have 
been  sweet,  but  it  couldn't  have  been  as  sweet 
as  the  sound  of  her  voice.  I  thought  of  Moses 
smiting  the  rock.  Radium  eyes — I  can  see 
them  now.  She  danced,  and  she  was  grace 
ful — wish  I  could  make  you  see  her.  Full 
mouth  as  if  her  words,  crowded  within,  flut 
tered  to  be  free  and  to  fly  away.  Young,  yes; 
but  somehow  her  face  showed  care,  serious 
until  she  smiled  and  then — it  was  sunrise. 
She  seemed  frail  and  I  know  that  I  felt  the 
blood  dripping  down  from  my  heart  when  I 
fancied  that  she  might  have  had  trouble  with 
her  lungs.  Yet  she  was  strong  and  she 
whirled  in  the  air  when  she  danced,  and  I 
caught  sight  of  her  feet,  and  they,  too,  flut 
tered  like  white  birds.  Dad,  am  I  foolish?" 
106 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Yes.  But  when  was  it  that  God  rested 
from  His  labors?  When  He  had  created 
the  first  fool.  And  if  the  creation  of  a  fool 
brought  rest  to  the  world,  the  contemplation 
of  one  ought  not  at  this  late  day  to  tire  man 
so  very  much.  Go  ahead,  Sammy." 

"Wish  I  could  make  you  see  her — but  no 
one  can  see  her — we  can  simply  hear  her,  and 
then  when  we  look  we  are  dazzled.  I  used 
to  hear  you  tell  about  the  women  at  White 
Sulphur  Springs  and  I'd  smile  at  what  I 
thought  was  your  extravagance.  But  now 
there's  no  such  thing  as  extravagance.  When 
a  man  has  been  in  the  middle  of  the  Pacific 
can  you  tell  him  about  an  extravagance  of 
water?  She  and  her  party  left  the  hotel  early 
that  night,  to  take  a  train.  I  heard  her  say 
New  York,  and  instantly  it  became  Old 
Bunyan's  golden  city,  and  when  she  went  out 
of  the  ball  room,  the  music  cried  for  her  to 
come  back.  I  couldn't  stay  there.  I  rushed 
out  and  ran  to  my  boss'  room  to  get  some 
money.  He  wasn't  there.  I  set  out  to  look 
for  him;  found  him,  but  reached  the  station- 
too  late.  But  I  caught  the  next  train." 

"What  is  her  name,  Sammy?" 

"She  hasn't  any — that  is,  I  don't  know.  I 
107 


An  American  in  New  York 

went  to  the  register  and  tried  to  find  out,  but 
I  didn't.  There  were  a  dozen  or  more  of 
young  women  from  New  York.  But  I'm  go 
ing  to  find  out.  Just  now  a  man  came  up  and 
spoke  to  me — said  he  must  have  seen  me  in 
Mexico,  and  perhaps  he  was  in  her  party. 

He's   sitting    over    yonder    and "      He 

broke  off  and  seized  the  Colonel  by  the  arm. 
'There  she  is." 


108 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

THE  GIRL  WHO  TALKED  BLOSSOMS. 

Not  far  off  sat  a  woman,  the  man  who  had 
spoken  to  Sammy,  and  a  girl  whom  the  Col 
onel  recognized  as  the  one  over  whom  the 
young  fellow  must  have  been  raving,  not  that 
there  was  anything  remarkable  about  her, 
but  that  she  was  young  and  yet  seemed  old 
just  before  she  spoke  to  the  woman  beside 
her  and  then  lighted  i-nto  dazzling  youth.  He 
observed,  too,  the  fulness  of  her  mouth  and 
he  caught  the  flash  of  her  wondrous  eye, 
and  then  as  slowly  the  other  woman  turned 
toward  him  he  recognized  the  widow.  "Why, 
bless  my  life,  she  is  with  a  friend  of  mine," 
said  he,  "I'll  go  over  and " 

"Please  don't — not  now,"  Sammy  mur 
mured.  He  looked  like  a  condemned  man 
whom  the  sheriff  has  just  a'sked  if  he  knows 
of  any  reason  as  to  why  the  law  should  not 
take  its  course,  and  he  shoved  the  dishes  away 
as  fast  as  the  waiter  placed  them  in  front  of 
him.  "I'll  be  back  after  a  while,"  he  said, 
109 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  he  seemed  to  drag  himself  out  of  his  chair, 
so  enormous  was  the  weight  that  had  sud 
denly  fallen  upon  him.  The  Colonel  bade 
him  wait  a  moment,  but  he  hastened  out,  halt 
ing  a  moment  at  the  door  to  shoot  a  back 
ward  glance.  "Crazy,"  mused  the  Colonel. 
"I  thought  the  youngsters  had  about  got  over 
that  sort  of  thing — thought  that  it  belonged 
wholly  to  the  past."  He  glanced  at  the 
widow.  She  smiled  at  him,  and  with  more  of 
embarrassment  than  he  would  have  liked  to 
acknowledge,  he  went  over  to  her  table  and 
was  presented  to  Miss  Johnson  and  shook 
hands  with  her  brother,  Mr.  Johnson,  niece 
and  nephew  of  the  widow.  They  called  the 
widow  Aunt  Mag,  American  enough,  surely. 
Mr.  Johnson,  whom  the  widow  addressed  as 
Dick,  complained  of  the  slowness  of  the 
waiter,  slower  than  even  in  Mexico,  he  said, 
and  called  upon  Imogene  to  testify  to  that 
fact,  and  Miss  Johnson,  who  answered  to 
that  name,  said  that  it  was  a  fact,  she  sup 
posed,  and  the  Colonel  looked  down  upon  the 
floor,  remembering  that  the  young  fellow 
Sammy  had  found  a  blossom  where  had  fallen 
one  of  her  words  in  the  Mexican  ballroom. 
"So  you  didn't  go  after  all,"  said  the 
1 10 


An  American  in  New  York 
widow.     "Permit  me  to  say  that  I'm  glad  of 


it." 


The  Colonel  bowed  and  the  girl,  whisper 
ing  to  her  brother,  said  that  it  was  charming, 
this  grace  of  the  old  South;  and  the  brother 
grunted  and  said  something  about  starving 
to  death.  The  American  said  that  a  combina 
tion  of  circumstances  operated  against  his  go 
ing.  With  a  motion  almost  delicate  enough 
to  be  unrecognizable,  the  widow  bade  him 
sit  down,  and  he  did,  beside  her;  and  she 
asked  him  to  tell  a  story,  which  he  did  not, 
declaring  that  his  mind  had  been  swept  clear 
of  all  yarns. 

"I  hope  the  wind  will  soon  shift  and  blow 
some  of  them  back,"  she  said,  and  then 
Imogene  spoke  up.  "We  have  heard  of  your 
stories,  Colonel,"  and  her  voice  was  sweet, 
but  not  so  musical  as  the  widow's  notes, 
trained  into  so  perfect  a  charm.  A  waiter 
approached  and  informed  the  Colonel  that 
his  dinner  was  getting  cold,  and  the  Ameri 
can  turned  to  him  and  said:  "Sir,  I  always 
like  my  dinner  cold.  It  runs  in  the  family, 
having  been  acquired  by  my  people  while 
chasing  you  British  in  the  neighborhood  of 
New  Orleans,"  but  instantly  recognizing  his 
in 


An  American  in  New  York 

own  rudeness  and  repenting  of  it,  he  gave  the 
waiter  a  dollar,  which,  to  all  appearances, 
was  thoroughly  in  accord  with  all  demand. 
Imogene  said  that  he  was  delicious,  a  sweetly 
tantalizing  way  a  girl  has  of  speaking  to  an 
oldish  chap.  He  bowed  to  her  and  said  that 
if  they  were  at  White  Sulphur  he  would  kiss 
her  hand,  and  with  a  laugh  in  which  there 
was  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  tinkling  of 
silver  strings  she  told  him  not  to  let  the  fact 
that  those  famous  springs  were  so  far  away 
stand  against  such  an  honor  and  pleasure  on 
her  part. 

"I  went  over  to  your  table  just  now,"  said 
the  young  man,  "and  spoke  to " 

"My  son,"  the  Colonel  broke  in,  as  Dick 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  "Adopted  son, 
madam, "  he  quickly  added,  looking  at  the 
widow.  "He  has  just  arrived  from  Mexico." 

"Ah,  I  thought  I  remembered  having  seen 
him,"  said  Dick,  and  the  Colonel  looked  at 
Imogene  to  determine  whether  she  remem 
bered,  too,  but  she  said  nothing  and  the 
American  was  just  a  little  fretted  to  see  that 
her  countenance  underwent  no  change.  To 
the  old-time  Southerner  nothing  is  so  real 
as  a  romance;  in  no  country  do  first  loves  so 
112 


An  American  in  New  York 

often  realize  their  longings.  In  no  place  is 
there  more  of  love  at  first  sight,  except  in  the 
world  of  Shakespeare.  In  no  land  are  there 
more  old  men  and  old  women  unmarried  out 
of  remembrance  and  reverence  for  a  romance 
whose  wreath  crumbled  into  the  grave;  and 
with  Sammy's  heart-frightened  countenance 
fresh  before  him,  with  the  echo  of  his  pas 
sionate  words  still  in  his  ears,  the  Colonel 
felt,  or  at  least  persuaded  himself  that  he  did 
feel,  that  the  young  fellow  had  been  thrown 
hard  against  the  crisis  of  his  soul's  affairs. 
The  young  woman  seemed  careless,  as  nearly 
all  girls  do  to  the  concerned  eye,  and  as  for 
himself  he  could  not  determine  why  she 
should  wrap  a  sensible  fellow  in  a  purple 
flame,  the  radiation  of  her  own  being;  for 
study  her  as  he  might  he  could  not  get  at  the 
secret  of  her  overwhelming  charm.  Sammy 
had  not  noticed  her  until  she  spoke  and  then 
his  blood  began  to  tingle,  even  before  he  had 
in  fact  caught  sight  of  her,  but  the  Colonel 
could  not  understand  what  there  was  in  her 
words,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  that  should  so 
powerfully  operate  upon  a  youngster's  blood. 
Her  voice  was  sweet,  of  course;  and  why 
should  it  not  be,  since  she  was  well  bred  and 


An  American  in  New  York 

refined?  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  a 
girl,  unless  she  had  a  long  neck  and  short 
hair,  should  be  possessed  of  an  unpleasant 
voice.  Her  eyes  were  soulful — well,  yes, 
radium,  in  a  manner;  and  her  autumn  hair 
looked  as  if  it  might  have  ripened  in  amber 
atmosphere,  but  a  man  caught  simply  by  hair 
could  not  be  held  with  even  steel.  Above  all, 
he  did  not  know  that  she  had  looked  at  him 
and  how  could  love  ripen  unless  eye  should 
meet  eye  ?  She  was  too  well  rounded  to  have 
had  trouble  with  her  lungs,  for  looking  at  a 
bit  of  ribbon  worn  rather  low,  the  Colonel 
was  reminded  of  a  rice-bird  when  the  fields 
were  turning  brown.  He  felt  that  she  was 
slangy.  She  seemed  in  her  manner,  quiet 
though  it  was,  fully  adventurous  enough  for 
that  sort  of  talk,  to  show  her  own  refinement 
that  she  was  not  afraid  of  herself  and  was 
not  to  be  hemmed  in  by  convention.  Now, 
anyone  could  love  the  window  at  first  or  at 
even  the  second  sight  of  the  dotard.  She  re 
minded  him  of  a  bit  of  lace;  she  was  made  of 
silken  threads,  tinged  with  a  sunset.  What 
witch,  with  her  hank  of  midnight,  had  spun 
her  hair?  Had  those  ears  been  brought 
from  the  southern  sea,  pink  shells;  and  had 
114 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  rose  bush  contributed  her  lips?  But  now 
as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as  laugh 
ingly  they  talked,  he  saw  that  the  two  women 
were  vastly  different  in  a  way  more  elusive 
than  in  form  and  feature.  Imogene  was,  the 
Colonel  suddenly  thought,  a  book  easily  read, 
her  print  clear  and  large,  not  to  be  mistaken, 
while  the  widow  was  to  be  read  in  only  to 
the  extent  that  she  was  willing.  She  had  a 
way  of  dimming  her  lines,  of  obscuring  her 
sentences,  of  hiding  her  plot,  which,  after  all, 
the  American  thought  was  charming,  for  we 
like  the  books  best  that  are  not  too  easy  to 
comprehend.  Ease  dulls  the  mind,  blunts 
appreciation,  while  a  little  perplexity  sharpens 
our  wit  and  puts  us  in  a  mood  to  compliment 
ourselves. 

After  many  bows,  new  views  of  a  quaint 
picture,  the  Colonel  made  an  appointment  to 
meet  the  ladies  in  the  Turkish  room  after 
dinner,  and  would  desire  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Dick  Johnson,  too,  he  said,  but  that  young 
man  replied  that  he  had  an  engagement,  he 
was  sorry,  which  he  was  not;  and  the  Colonel 
said  that  he  was  so  sorry,  which  he  was  not, 
for  the  brother  of  Imogene  had  not  shed  any 
light  upon  the  scene.  So  the  American  shook 


An  American  in  New  York 

hands  with  him,  bowed  again  and  again  to 
the  ladies  and  withdrew,  to  be  halted  by  the 
waiter  who  informed  him  that  his  dinner  was 
now  cool  enough  to  be  eaten.  This  bit  of 
humor  on  the  part  of  the  Britisher,  who  was 
born  and  brought  up  on  a  farm  in  the  West, 
was  worthy  of  reward  and  the  American 
tipped  him  again.  But  he  did  not  sit  down  to 
eat  of  the  cold  meal.  Somehow  he  felt  that 
it  was  a  part  of  the  past  not  to  be  recalled, 
and  so  he  went  out  to  a  lunch  counter,  where 
he  called  a  Dutch  girl  "my  dear,"  who,  in  re 
turn  referred  to  him  as  ua  handsome  old 

guy." 

Finding  from  the  register  the  number  of 
Sammy's  quarters,  the  Colonel  went  up  and 
knocked  on  the  door.  The  young  fellow 
came  to  let  him  in,  and  seeing  that  his  caller 
was  his  stepfather,  seized  him  by  the  hand  in 
a  caper  which  was  no  doubt  expressive  to  him 
self  of  his  own  distress,  but  which  to  anyone 
else  was  far  from  bearing  an  aspect  of  sad 
ness.  uAnd  you  have  heard  her  speak,"  he 
said,  wheeling  out  a  chair  for  the  Colonel, 
who  sat  down  and  crossed  his  legs.  "Ur — 
yes,  heard  her  speak." 

"Did — did  she  say  anything  about — me?n 
116 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Why,  I  don't  think  she  ever  saw  you." 

"Good  Lord,  is  it  so  one-sided  as  that?" 

"I  was  just  thinking,  Sammy,  that  you 
mustn't  tell  the  widow  anything  at  all  about 
me.  She's  got  me  to  guessing  and  now  I 
want  her  to  guess  awhile  herself.  Gad, 
there's  something  strange  about  her — sweet 
ly  strange,  I  might  say.  And  how  I  have  lied 
to  her,  but  not  viciously,  Sammy.  Yes,  I've 
heard  her  speak — went  over,  as  I  said  I'd  do, 
and  had  quite  a  chat  with  them.  By  the 
way,  the  girl  is  the  widow's  niece." 

"What!  you  don't  tell  me!" 

"Now — now,  what  caused  you  to  suspect 
that  I  didn't  tell  you?  Is  it  anything  un 
usual  for  a  widow  to  have  a  niece?  Why, 
the  average  widow  has  one." 

"Ah,  but  not  such  a  one  as  that,"  Sammy 
replied,  despondently  shaking  his  head.  "Dad, 
you — you  don't  know  that  girl." 

"Doesn't  appear  that  you  do,  either. 
There  was  an  old  fellow  lived  down 

"Don't  tell  a  story,  dad;  don't,  please,  for 
to  hear  anything  except  about  her — is  mad 
dening — I'm  almost  tempted  to  say." 

"Did  say  it.  Bacon  said,  however,  that  no 
117 


An  American  in  New  York 

really  great  man  ever  lost  himself  completely 
in  his  infatuation  for  a  woman.  He 

"Oh,  Bacon  be  damned — I  beg  your  par 
don."  He  came  over  to  the  Colonel  and  with 
boyish  affection  put  his  hands  upon  the 
American's  shoulders.  Somewhere  behind 
him,  in  a  polite  past,  there  was  gentle  blood 
— in  Baltimore's  colony;  and  though  he  was 
born  amid  the  scent  of  gunpowder,  one  night 
when  the  cowboys  were  shooting  out  the  red 
lights  of  the  town,  he  was  called  the  "gentle 
man  toddler"  when  in  kilts  he  wandered 
about  the  mining  camp.  The  only  mark 
made  upon  him  showed  itself  in  his  desire  to 
write  blustry  romances,  but  this,  as  has  been 
said,  soon  passed  away. 

"Sit  down,  Sammy,  and  let  us  talk  this 
thing  over,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  when  the 
youth  had  obeyed,  leaning  back  helplessly  in 
a  rocking  chair,  the  American  continued: 
"Don't  understand  me  to  say  that  it  is  better 
to  be  Bacon's  great  man  than  the  ordinary  re 
sult  of  nature's  intention.  It  is  better  to  be 
the  fool  in  love  than  the  wise  man  in  the  hall 
of  science.  The  promises  of  love  are  often 
fulfilled;  of  wisdom,  never.  Love  leaps  into 
glory  with  a  kiss.  Wisdom  has  no  kiss  of 
118 


An  American  in  New  York 

perfect  fruition."  Slowly  he  began  to  ham 
mer  upon  his  knee.  "The  truth  is,  Sammy, 
I'm  at  this  unholy  moment  in  love  with  that 
widow — can't  help  it  to  save  my  life;  have 
fought  against  it,  but  my  fight  simply 
strengthens  the  enemy.  She  thinks  I'm  mar 
ried.  In  a  sort  of  guy,  I  told  her  along  with 
the  rest  that  I  was  on  my  wedding  journey, 
many  years  after  marriage,  as  the  trip  could 
not  have  been  undertaken  earlier,  and  that  my 
wife  preferred  to  go  one  place  and  I  another. 
Don't  tell  her  the  truth,  that  I  was  never  mar 
ried." 

"Now,  dad,  that's  where  you  make  a  mis 
take.  She  might  fall  in  love  with  you.  How 
could  she  help  it  when  she  comes  to  know 
you  well?  You  aren't  old;  you  are  big  and  as 
strong  as  a  lion.  You  are  just  in  your  prime." 

"Your  last  statement  is  correct,  Sammy.  I 
am  just  in  my  intellectual  prime,  at  least.  But 
beautiful  women  are  not  looking  for  intel 
lectual  primes.  They  are  glancing  about  for 
position.  They  say,  'give  me  what  I  want 
and  I  will  make  you  believe  that  you  and  I 
are  happy.  Give  me ' ' 

The  boy  made  some  sort  of  a  sign  of  dis 
tress,  cutting  off  the  Colonel's  world-wisdom 
119 


An  American  in  New  York 

talk;  and  with  an  atoning  bow  the  American 
continued:  "Guess  I  went  a  little  too  far, 
Sammy.  The  fact  is  that  when  a  man  sets 
out  to  be  wise  he  doesn't  know  when  to  stop. 
It  is  the  strain  to  say  a  wise  thing  that  makes 
nearly  every  talkative  man  foolish.  But  you 
know  that  out  in  America  they  have  spoiled 
me  by  calling  me  a  philosopher.  Did  I  tell 
you  that  we  have  an  engagement  to  meet 
them  in  the  Turkish  room  this  evening?" 

"Great  Caesar,  no!" 

"Sit  down.  Not  time  to  go  yet.  I  don't 
suppose  you've  got  a  dress  suit  with  you?" 

"Of  course  not.  I  brought  nothing  but  a 
handbag  full  of — distress.  I'm  crazy,  I  tell 
you." 

"Yes,  I  reckon  that  is  a  fact.  But  gods, 
what  is  it  not  worth  to  be  in  your  fix,  youth 
crazy  in  love !  In  that  one  fact  is  concen 
trated  all  creativeness,  all  genius.  If  the  old 
South  hadn't  passed  away,  Sammy,  I  should 
have  been  an  orator.  This  country,  you 
know,  produced  an  original  oratory,  and  a 
mild  echo  of  it  we  called  literature.  But  I'm 
drifting.  We'd  better  go  out  now,  and  rent 
some  swallowtails.  I  haven't  worn  one  in 
some  time,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  that  in  the 
120 


An  American  in  New  York 

South  they  were  as  common  as  brown  jeans. 
Why,  it  got  so  that  the  predatory  birds 
wouldn't  stay  out  of  a  field  unless  a  scare 
crow  was  arrayed  in  evening  dress — crows 
didn't  think  they  were  real  otherwise.  Come, 
pull  yourself  together." 

Sammy  had  reached  that  stage  when  he 
was  willing  to  be  led  by  any  mind  wiser  than 
his  own,  when,  indeed,  all  minds  seemed 
wiser;  and  ready  to  go  he  stood  like  a  rage 
tamed  into  listlessness.  "Don't  let  the  sup 
position  that  you  may  not  get  a  suit  to  fit 
worry  you,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking  about 
for  his  hat.  "Truth  is,  you  know,  the  aver 
age  dress  suit  fits  better  when  it  has  been 
made  for  someone  else.  There  was  an  old 
fellow  named  Habbleson — but  you  don't 
want  any  stories.  You  said  just  now,  or  I 
inferred  from  what  you  said  or  didn't  say, 
that  I  ought  to  tell  the  widow  that  I'm  not 
married.  But  that  would  destroy  her  free 
dom  with  me.  You  know  it  is  easier  for  a 
woman  to  make  a  companion  of  a  young  fel 
low  than  an  old  one.  The  old  fellow's  vanity 
leads  him  toward  sentimental  extravagances; 
so  if  I  should  tell  her,  she  would  constantly 
stand  in  dread  of  what  might  come  next;  she 
121 


An  American  in  New  York 

would  be  afraid  of  love-making,  if  she's  sensi 
ble,  and  not  worth  loving  if  she  isn't.  She's 
rich " 

"Well,  aren't  you?" 

"If  I  am  she  must  not  know  it.  I  won 
der  if  I  can  get  at  what  I  want  to  say.  No 
woman  enjoys  an  easy  conquest.  Where 
there  are  no  barriers  the  conquest  may  be 
easy.  Marriage  was  instituted  for  the  pro 
tection  of  woman,  but  if  she  can,  by  her 
beauty  or  her  wit,  break  down  all  regard  for 
these  barriers  and  win  a  fellow's  love,  whether 
or  not,  she  is  put  to  a  delicious  test,  and  that 
is  what  she  likes.  Of  course  her  contempt 
arises  when  the  conquest  has  been  made. 
Guess  I've  missed  what  I  wanted  to  say.  It 
was  as  a  dream  not  tangible  enough  to  be 
told." 

The  young  fellow  looked  at  him.  "Col 
onel,  isn't  it  because  you  would  like  to  break 
through  a  barrier  yourself  and  win  her  love 
— over  the  fence  of  your  own  supposed  mar- 
riage?" 

"Well  put,  Sammy.  But  I'm  not  vain 
enough  to  believe  that  I  could  ever  impress 
her.  As  I  said  I  love  her — oh,  in  a  dazzled 
sort  of  way — and  the  Lord  knows,  I've  loved 

122 


An  American  in  New  York 

many  a  one — would  have  married  once  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  maple  syrup.  I  was  liv 
ing  in  Paris,  Kentucky,  and  had  formed  the 
acquaintance  of  a  most  charming  girl  who 
resided  in  an  adjoining  county.  I  had  cut 
many  a  scollop  about  her  in  the  ballroom; 
had  come  near  kissing  her  on  the  deserted 
public  square  one  night,  but  just  at  that  mo 
ment  some  fellow  threw  a  jug  out  of  a  win 
dow,  and  its  falling  with  a  loud  crash  into 
the  street  frightened  her.  But  about  the 
maple  molasses.  I  was  to  meet  her  one  morn 
ing  to  go  with  her  to  the  county  fair  over  at 
Georgetown.  The  train  was  on  time  and  I 
was  hastening  through  breakfast  at  the  ho 
tel,  to  join  her  at  the  station,  as  she  was  on 
the  train,  when  just  as  I  shoved  back  my 
chair  the  negro  waiter  came  up  and  said  that 
I  must  try  the  new  molasses,  just  brought  in. 
He  knew  that  I  liked  the  juice  of  the  sugar 
tree.  I  demurred,  telling  him  that  I  hadn't 
time,  but  he  declared  that  it  wouldn't  take 
but  a  minute,  so  I  stayed.  And,  sir,  while  I 
was  eating,  the  train  came  along  and  left 
me.  The  girl  had  saved  me  a  seat  beside 
herself,  but  when  I  failed  to  make  my  appear 
ance,  she  gave  it  to  another  fellow,  who  pro- 
123 


An  American  in  New  York 

posed  to  her  that  very  day  and  was  accepted. 
We'll  go  out,  now.  I  don't  suppose  it  is  of 
any  use  to  tell  you  to  be  self-possessed,  but 
I  must  caution  you  to  be  as  cool  as  you  can. 
If  she  sees  that  you  are  her  slave  she'll  have 
no  interest  in  you." 


124 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  I  X. 

SELF-POSSESSED,    BUT    WHIRLED    AWAY. 

In  the  Turkish  room  the  two  women  were 
waiting.  The  Colonel  was  surprised  at  the 
youngster's  self-possession.  When  presented 
to  the  girl  he  bowed  with  a  grace  that  was 
not  unbecoming  to  his  swallow-tailed  rig,  and 
so  proud  was  the  American  that  with  a 
speech  upon  the  worth  and  bravery  of  his 
step-son  he  came  near  spoiling  it  all. 
"Dad — I  mean  the  Colonel,  has  told  me  a 
great  deal  about  you,  Madam,"  Sammy  said 
to  the  Widow,  "and  I  was  pleased  with  the 
prospect  of  meeting  not  only  you  but  so  near 
a  relative  of  yours,"  and  he  bowed  and  smiled 
and  the  girl  laughed,  which  threatened  his 
overthrow,  but  he  steadied  himself. 

"My  Brother  said  something  of  your  be 
ing  in  Mexico,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  was  there,  and  I  thought  that  I 
saw — him.  But  one  meets  so  many  in  trav 
eling,  you  know." 

She  knew,  or  at  least  she  said  she  did,  and 
both  of  them  looked  as  if  they  had  found  a 
125 


An  American  in  New  York 

truth,  as  important  as  any  new  discovery  in 
chemistry  or  astronomy.  He  asked  her  if 
she  liked  Mexico,  and  she  answered  by  say 
ing  that  while  she  was  there  she  persuaded 
herself  that  she  did;  and  as  nothing  could 
have  been  wiser  than  this,  he  looked  ten  years 
older  in  his  determination  to  stand  face  to  face 
with  it.  Usually  the  young  fellow  was  full 
of  fun,  and  now  the  Colonel  waited  for  his 
rippling  humor,  but  it  did  not  come,  for  owl- 
like  he  sat  looking  at  the  girl,  with  never 
an  effort  to  say  other  than  the  conventional 
thing.  "Ah,"  mused  the  American,  "he 
thought  he  was  infatuated  with  her,  away 
off  in  Mexico  at  a  time  when  he  had  not 
attempted  to  get  at  her  mind,  but  now  that 
he  meets  her  he  finds  nothing  in  her  and  re 
pents  of  his  foolishness." 

Ah,  but  how  delightful  was  the  Widow. 
He  could  not  have  given  a  good  notion  of 
her  appearance  as  she  sat  back  in  a  great  up 
holstered  chair;  one  moment  she  seemed  pink 
and  then  blue  and  afterward  red,  to  go  6ack 
again  to  pink,  a  fountain  with  different  lights 
falling  on  her;  and  he  wondered  if  in  the 
history  of  womankind  so  beautiful  a  creature 
had  ever  lived  before  to  grace  the  world  with 
126 


An  American  in  New  York 

her  smile.  He  wondered  why  she  should 
like  him  or  be  interested  in  him  any  further 
than  she  might  find  in  him  a  sort  of  rare 
specimen,  and  he  resolved  to  continue  to  be 
rare,  if  he  could,  thus  to  enjoy  the  fact  that 
she  was  near  him.  Standing  too  near  a  dy 
namo  stops  a  watch,  and  he  told  her  that 
she  had  influenced  his  watch  to  go  wrong, 
and  when  she  laughed  he  looked  up  suddenly 
as  if  some  one  had  turned  on  a  new  and  dif 
ferent-colored  light.  Whenever  he  fancied 
that  her  interest  was  shifting  its  scene  from 
him  he  would  tell  her  a  story,  and  it  was 
then  that  to  her  he  seemed  the  quaintest, 
when  his  individuality  was  strongest.  But 
she  did  not  dare  too  much  to  encourage  his 
story-telling  lest  he  might  hit  upon  one  too 
long  for  the  occasion.  Quick  and  nervous 
herself,  she  was  afraid  of  slow  detail.  She 
liked  to  put  him  to  the  distress  of  meeting  a 
sudden  opinion  of  her  own,  some  view  that 
might  be  real  or  assumed;  and  she  strove  to 
set  traps  for  him.  But  sometimes  in  her 
search  for  opinions  and  finding  them,  she 
was  herself  at  a  loss  to  determine  which  were 
real  or  how  much  of  any  one  were  simply 
assumed  to  stimulate  argument.  Sometimes 
127 


An  American  in  New  York 

a  sudden  thought,  new  to  us,  becomes  a  con 
viction,  and  the  Widow  found  that  in  talk 
ing  to  the  American  she  was  possessed  of  a 
bird-flight  of  opinions  hitherto  strange  to  her. 
"We  are  happiest — we  women — when  we  are 
compelled  to  do  the  things  that  we  have  al 
ways  wanted  to  do,"  she  said,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  the  American  looked  as  if  he  were 
about  to  sneeze,  but  in  the  Colonel's  counte 
nance  the  sneezy  expression  settled  into  mild 
surprise,  and  the  Widow  continued:  uYes, 
we  sometimes  want  an  excuse  for  doing  the 
things  which  we  have  longed  to  do.  Perhaps 
we  have  gone  about  from  day  to  day,  with 
a  bright  thought,  but  with  no  excuse  to  give 
it  utterance;  and  we  are  thankful  for  occa 
sion  to  give  it  speech.  But  what  was  I  going 
so  say?" 

"Perhaps,  Madam,  you  were  waiting  for 
me  to  give  occasion  to  your  bright  thoughts." 

"Oh,  you  always  do  that — if  I  have  any. 
Yes,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  you  weren't 
secretly  glad  that  you  are  to  remain  with  us 
a  little  longer." 

"Secretly,  Madam?  Oh,  no.  Proudly  and 
therefore  outwardly  as  well  as  inwardly 
glad." 

128 


An  American  in  New  York 

Over  in  a  corner  the  young  fellow  and  the 
girl  had  found  something  which  they  evi 
dently  imagined  to  be  a  curio  of  great  inter 
est,  and  the  Widow  nodded  toward  them. 
"Glad  to  see  your  step-son  enjoying  him- 
self?" 

"Yes — now  that  you  have  mentioned  it." 

"Your  own  children 

"I  have  no  children  of  my  own." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  said  that  they  were 
grown  up  and  gone  out  for  themselves." 

"Did  I  say  that?  A  mere  figure  of  speech, 
Madam.  I  believe  I  said  that  the  time  had 
finally  come  when  I  could  afford  a  bridal 
tour,  but  I  don't  remember,  of  having  spoken 
of  the — ahem — children.  I  said  that  my 
wife  went  on  a  trip  to  Mt.  Sterling,  Ken 
tucky,  I  believe.  I  don't  suppose  you  were 
ever  there,  but  it  is  a  most  interesting  place. 
It  was  there  that  my  friend,  Will  Visscher, 
the  poet,  was  a  police  judge." 

"A  poet  and  a  police  judge?" 

"Yes,  Madam;  and  every  lawyer  who  prac 
ticed  before  him  had  to  take  out  poetic  li 
cense.  He  wrote  all  his  decisions  in  rhyme, 
even  if  he  had  to  reverse  a  decree  of  the  su 
preme  court  to  get  the  necessary  word;  and 
129 


An  American  in  New  York 

his  reports  might  serve  as  a  text-book  for  a 
court  of  romance.  Once  he  issued  an  injunc 
tion  that  made  him  famous.  Into  the  court 
room  there  came  a  youth,  tangled  of  hair  and 
crazy  of  eye,  and  said:  'Judge,  I  need  your 
help/  'All  right,  what  can  I  do  for  you?' 
'Well,  sir,  I  am  in  love  with  a  girl  and  if  I 
don't  get  her  the  sun  will  go  out  and  all  the 
world  forever  be  dark.'  'That  would 
be  bad,'  replied  the  Judge.  'We  need  sun 
shine  to  ripen  the  corn,  for  liquor  made  out 
of  green  corn  wouldn't  be  to  the  taste  of  the 
best  society  of  this  commonwealth.  So  what 
can  I  do,  now,  to  keep  the  sun  shining?'  The 
young  fellow  dropped  into  a  chair  and  after 
a  few  moments  looked  up  as  if  he  had  at 
last  found  courage  enough  to  float  his  idea. 
'The  reason  I  am  about  to  lose  her  is  be 
cause  a  fellow  is  going  to  see  her  and  he's 
going  swift  and  often.  He  gives  her  figures 
of  speech  that  I  don't  find  at  my  command; 
says  things  that  makes  the  red  of  delight 
come  to  her  cheeks — feeds  her  on  the  sweets 
of  a  flattering  mind;  and  now  I  want  an  in 
junction  against  him — want  an  order  restrain 
ing  him  from  talking  about  anything  but 
weather  and  the  crops.'  The  Judge  medi- 
130 


An  American  in  New  York 

tated.  'It  is  the  province  of  the  law,  or  at 
least  ought  to  be,  to  protect  the  weak.  I'll 
issue  the  injunction.'  He  did  so,  served  it 
with  a  big  fellow  that  knew  how  to  hit  hard 
or  handle  a  gun,  and  the  girl  married  the 
common  but  more  devoted  lover." 

The  Widow  smiled,  but  having  hit  upon  a 
subject  that  involved  the  necessity  of  dodg 
ing,  she  was  determined  to  pursue  it. 
"Colonel,  I  suppose  your  wife  was  a  blue 
grass  girl." 

"I  might  rather  say,  Madam,  a  clover 
blossom." 

"Tall?" 

"Judging  by  height,  Madam,  I  should  say 
that  you  and  she  were  sisters." 

"I  wish  you  had  brought  her;  I  know 
that  she  and  I  should  have  become  famous 
friends,  for  already  I  am  more  interested  in 
her  than  in  almost  any  of  my  real  acquaint 
ances.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  a  curiosity  to 
see  what  sort  of  woman  could  have  capti 
vated  you." 

It  seemed  to  the  Colonel  that  at  this  mo 
ment  she  stabbed  him  in  the  eye  with  a  splin 
ter  of  light  out  of  her  own;  and  he  blinked, 
wondering  why  she  should  so  delve  at  this 


An  American  in  New  York 

subject  when  she  ought  to  see  that  he  was 
striving  to  avoid  it.  He  began  to  tell  her  a 
story  of  an  old  inn  keeper  who  had  a  black 
bear  chained  to  a  tree  in  his  yard,  but  he 
fancied  that  he  saw  her  mind,  with  all  of  its 
bright  variations,  colored  mists,  floating  away 
from  him.  Could  it  be  that  she  really  was 
interested  in  the  supposed  wife  or  was  it  that 
she  was  pleased  to  scorpion  him? 

"I  ought  to  have  brought  her  with  me," 
he  said;  "and  I  should,  too,  if  I  had  suspected 
that  she  could  have  found  such  a  friend.  But 
of  course  I  could  not  imagine  that  a  leader 
in  society  here " 

The  room  rang  with  the  music  of  her 
laughter.  The  youngsters  looked  up  from 
their  curio  corner,  but  looked  down  again; 
and  the  Colonel  glanced  at  the  Widow  as  if 
in  slightly  opening  his  mouth  he  had  split  a 
word  and  didn't  know  how  to  join  it  together 
again.  "Why,  Colonel,"  she  said,  "I'm  no 
leader  in  society.  I  know  some  people  that 
are  rather  important,  or  who  at  least  believe 
they  are,  but  the  great  society  whirls  past 
me,  giving  to  me  merely  the  picture  of  its 
flying  skirts.  Oh,  you  are  going  to  say  that 
I  must  have  money  or  I  couldn't  live  here  in 
132 


An  American  in  New  York 

this  hotel.      Perhaps   I   have,    and   I   might 
also  possess  money  enough  to  buy  this  hotel 
and  even  then  not  be   a   leader  in   society. 
Money  isn't  everything  in  New  York." 
"Gad,  Madam,  but  it  comes  mighty  nigh 


it" 


"But  it  doesn't  mean  as  much  here, 
Colonel,  as  it  does  in  the  West.  There  it  is 
everything.  Here 

"Here,  it  is  everything  with  a  tip  thrown 


in." 


She  did  not  agree  with  him.  She  said  that 
the  very  highest  society  in  New  York  as  in 
London  was  not  vulgarized  by  money.  The 
Colonel  remarked  that  he  did  not  know  ex 
actly  what  she  meant  by  high  society  unless 
it  was  something  like  that  of  Knob  Hill,  in 
San  Francisco ;  but  she  frowned  upon  his  play 
with  a  word  and  he  shifted  his  ground. 
"Of  course  I  know  well  what  you  mean  and 
I  am  grieved  to  take  issue  with  you.  During 
all  of  my  life  I  have  heard  of  society  that 
was  not  based  on  money,  but  I  have  never 
been  permitted  a  glimpse  of  it.  Money  of 
the  second  generation  resents  money  of  the 
first  generation.  The  more  the  generation 
is  drawn  out  the  more  is  new  money  resented, 

133 


An  American  in  New  York 

upstart  money;  but  if  there  had  been  no 
money  there  would  have  been  no  society.  Of 
itself  fame  soon  passes  away.  There  is 
nothing  more  pitiable  than  poverty-stricken 
importance,  and  unless  fame  leaves  money  to 
its  offspring,  the  family  becomes  a  snob  of 
poverty  and  is,  I  might  say,  passed  up  by  so 
ciety — in  self  defense.  There  is  no  doubt  a 
circle  in  this  town  which  imagines  itself  above 
money.  What  then  is  it  based  upon?  Intel 
lect?  Let  a  penniless  philosopher  strive  to 
break  into  it.  Madam,  this  country  has  seen 
no  finer  society  than  the  old  society  of  the 
South.  It  was  said  that  one  needed  only  re 
spectability  and  cultivation  to  enter  it,  and 
only  genius  to  become  distinguished.  But 
this  is  not  true,  for  I  know  that  to  go  orna 
mented  into  that  society  required  cotton  and 
negroes.  Perhaps  the  greatest  orator  this 
country  ever  produced  was  Sargeant  S.  Pren- 
tiss.  From  New  England  he  went  to  Missis 
sippi,  a  poor  school  teacher.  The  discovery  of 
his  genius  required  only  the  opening  of  his 
mouth,  for  in  his  idlest  talk  his  words  were 
as  grains  of  gold.  But  he  was  not  recognized 
by  society  until  he  had  made  both  fame  and 


money.1' 


134 


An  American  in  New  York 

She  asked  if  all  of  the  famous  orators  of 
the  old  South  were  rich  men.  He  scratched 
his  head.  "Well,  no,  they  weren't  rich,  but 
they  were  usually  men  of  means.  Oratory, 
Madam,  is  the  voice  of  elegant  leisure. 
Statesmanship  is  the  practical  management 
of  affairs,  and  the  South  had  orators  but  no 
statesmen.  Jackson  was  a  soldier;  James  K. 
Polk  an  opportunist ;  Henry  Clay  an  eloquent 
trimmer;  Calhoun  the  genius  of  disturbance; 
Hayne  a  forcible  and  proud  debater,  but 
they  were  not  business  men,  and  a  statesman 
is  but  the  manager  of  a  mighty  estate.  But 
I  beg  your  pardon,  we  were  talking  about 
society." 

She  looked  at  him  as  slowly  she  moved 
her  fan.  Imogene  and  Sammy  had  quietly 
strolled  away.  uAt  first  I  thought  you  came, 
wearing  your  heart  upon  your  sleeve,"  she 
said,  smiling.  "But  although  not  of  New 
York,  you  are  of  the  world — of  society;  and 
while  you  playfully  boast  of  being  an  Ameri 
can,  you  are  a  man  of  ceremony.  And  I  can 
see  that  you  might  be " 

"What,  Madam?" 

"Dangerous.  I  know  you  are  a  flatterer, 
and  yet  I  half  believe  your  flatteries  even  be- 

135 


An  American  in  New  York 

fore  you  have  uttered  them.   I  thought  that  I 
had  long  since  ceased  to  put  confidence  in  any 


man." 


"Madam,  you  half  believe  me  because  it 
is  often  given  to  woman  to  see  and  to  esti 
mate  but  half  of  a  truth.  I  have  never 
thought  to  flatter  you.  You  have  given  to 
me  the  opportunity  to  speak  what  I  conceive 
to  be  true,  and  for  this  I  thank  you.  Those 
who  place  us  in  a  position  to  speak  the  truth 
have  conferred  a  great  favor.  If  when  I  say 
that  your  eyes  are  splendid  you " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  broke  in,  with 
a  trifle  more  of  vigor  given  to  the  motion  of 
her  fan.  He  bowed  and  she  looked  at  him 
a  long  time  before  she  spoke.  "I  should  like 
to  say  something  but  I  am  afraid  that  it  might 
hurt  you." 

"If  it  be  to  point  out  a  vanity  of  mine 
own,  let  me  have  it." 

"Not  to  point  out  a  vanity  but  perhaps  to 
deplore  a  fact.  I  was  wondering  why  I  had 
never  heard  of  you — why,  indeed,  the  world 
had  not  heard  of  you.  Having  such  mate 
rial,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  why  you  have 
not  made  more  of  yourself.  I  have  met 
many  men  who  were  regarded  as  great,  sen- 

136 


An  American  in  New  York 

ators  and  the  like,  and  they  have  failed  to 
interest  me  as  you  do.  At  first,  as  I  say,  I 
took  you  to  be  simple ;  I  thought  your  delight- 
fulness  proceeded  from  that  fact;  but  you  are 
far  from  being  simple.  You  have  what  is 
rare  in  a  man  of  noticeable  politeness- 
thought;  and  I  wonder  why  you  have  not 
put  it  to  conspicuous  uses.  Was  it  your  sense 
of  humor?  Don't  you  know  that  humor, 
while  possessed  by  the  great,  often  keeps  a 
man  from  attempts  which  look  to  be  vain  and 
ridiculous?  Don't  you  know  that?" 

"If  I  had  not — not  lost  my  hat  somewhere, 
Madam,  I  should  at  this  moment  take  it  off 
to  you.  But  it  was  not  a  sense  of  the  humor 
ous  that  kept  me  from  striving  to  make  more 
of  myself." 

"It  wasn't  a  lack  of  education,  for  you  are 
much  better  educated  than  one  might  at  first 
believe." 

"I  have  a  sheepskin,  Madam,  which  may 
never  have  been  the  hide  of  the  famous 
Derby  Ram,  but  which  must  have  covered  a 
good  sized  bell  wether." 

"Without  seeking  to,  Colonel,  you  have 
made  a  mystery  of  yourself.  But  I  am  glad 

137 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  know  that  you  are  married,  for  otherwise 
I  could  not  be  so  free  with  you." 

uAh,  and  have  you  been  free?  You 
haven't  told  me  anything  about  yourself.  I 
can  not  believe  that  you  married  for — well, 
other  than  love,  and  yet  about  you  there  is 
just  a  bit  of  cynicism.  In  you  I  fancy  a  remi 
niscent  romance.  You  married " 

UA  man." 

"An  old  man?" 

"Older  than  I  was." 

"Ah,  he  might  have  been  that  and  yet  a 
mere  boy." 

"Delightful." 

"I  am  waiting  for  more." 

"Let  us  talk  about  something  else.  Tell 
me  a  story." 

"The  subject  we  studiedly  depart  from  is 
usually  the  most  interesting,  just  as  what  we 
should  not  say  is  nearly  always  more  to  the 
point.  You  married  for— 

"Didn't  I  intimate  once  that  I  married 
for  freedom?" 

"Weren't  you  free  before?" 

"No,  I  was  a  slave — to  myself.  Is  your 
wife  fond  of  society?" 

"Yes,  she  goes  to  church  quite  often." 

138 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Member  of  any  club?" 
"She  is  not  of  a  quarrelsome  disposition." 
"You  are  delightful,  Colonel."  ' 
Sammy  and  the  girl  came  back  into  the 
room.  The  young  fellow  was  sedate  but  the 
girl  was  chatty.  "I've  heard  enough  of  the 
West  to  write  a  book  about  it,"  she  said,  and 
the  Colonel  remarked  that  not  having  heard 
half  so  much  and  without  half  trying  she 
might  still  produce  a  better  and  a  truer  ac 
count  of  the  West  than  any  volume  brought 
out  by  the  average  tourist.  This  pleased 
her.  She  was  standing  near  the  Colonel  and 
perhaps  with  an  unconscious  memory  coming 
back  from  infant  years  she  put  forth  her  lips, 
as  a  child  does  to  be  kissed.  Or  was  it  con 
scious  mischief.  Sammy  appeared  to  be 
afraid  that  he  might  stay  too  long,  a  sense  of 
propriety  that  usually  comes  with  a  sense  of 
sudden  awkwardness,  and  more  than  once  he 
slyly  made  to  the  Colonel  a  distressful  sign 
to  go,  but  the  American  had  struck  one  of 
his  easy  streaks  and  continued  to  talk,  look 
ing  about  for  his  hat,  of  course;  and  Sammy 
stood  with  his  weight  shifting  from  one  leg 
to  the  other,  after  the  manner  of  a  young 
rooster  with  frost-bitten  feet.  Every  time 

139 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  girl  looked  at  him  she  gave  him  a  new 
sensation,  and  when  after  a  time  she  flamed 
forth  an  unexpected  radiation,  a  smile  from 
her  splendid  store  of  dazzles,  he  put  up  his 
hand  to  find  that  his  head  was  gone,  and  he 
moved  about  as  if  he  might  find  it  with  his 
feet.  He  could  not  afterward  recall  how  he 
got  out  of  the  room,  whether  he  was  swung 
out  or  blown  out  by  a  scented  whirlwind; 
but  when  a  vestige  of  sense  returned  to  him 
he  was  sitting  in  the  Colonel's  room,  while 
up  and  down  the  American  was  walking  with 
his  hands  behind  him. 


140 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  X. 

AT   THE   WINDOW. 

The  Colonel  halted  at  a  window  and 
looked  out  over  the  city,  the  great  unrest,  his 
meditative  eye  wandering  along  the  roofs  of 
Fifth  Avenue,  channel  of  vanities;  and  in  his 
mind  he  could  see  the  millions  of  contending 
and  unquiet  souls  that  yearly  jostle  there. 
Away  down  below  where  turmoil  falls  to 
sleep  at  night,  in  the  quaint  old  streets  almost 
of  a  medieval  day,  prosperity  gives  ambition 
birth,  then  moves  it  up  the  Avenue.  To  out 
ward  look  how  bright  a  tide  through  that 
channel  flows !  Peacocked  beyond  democ 
racy,  display  its  coat  of  arms  and  gold  its 
earldom,  these  yearning  spirits  move,  dollars 
in  rivalry.  Virtue  founds  republics,  diamonds 
kill  them.  The  psalm  moves  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  to  deeds  of  fanatic  valor;  the  opera 
inspires  him  with  art  and  art  tends  toward 
monarchy.  Republics  individualize  desires; 
they  touch  wealth  with  unrest,  with  distrust 
of  envious  poverty.  Laws  made  by  popular 
assemblies  seem  too  weak  for  vast  estates, 
141 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  toward  a  throne  mossed  over  with  time- 
grown  privileges  gout-blooded  millionaires 
cast  a  beseeching  eye.  Thus  speaks  the  self- 
appointed  seer  and  we  laugh  at  him.  But  has 
not  false  security  always  laughed  at  danger? 
We  know  that  while  islands  rise  out  of  the 
sea,  while  rivers  change  their  courses,  while 
lakes  become  fields  and  fields  lakes — while, 
indeed,  all  physical  nature  is  changing,  human 
nature  remains  the  same.  American  life,  the 
school,  work,  money,  fashion,  opulence,  all 
unsatisfactory,  and  then  what?  Daughters 
married  to  princes,  sons  making  iron.  The 
contrast  is  too  great.  What  does  it  portend? 
Some  sort  of  change.  Inequality  at  the  top, 
unrest  at  the  bottom,  with  a  middle  sluffing 
both  ways.  Poverty  is  becoming  more  intel 
ligent  and  intelligence  has  ever  been  resent 
ful.  But  when  shall  our  estate  become  set 
tled?  Never  so  long  as  man  is  an  experi 
ment  unto  himself. 

These  thoughts  the  Colonel  had  mused 
aloud,  and  he  turned  about  expecting  a  reply 
from  his  young  friend,  but  Sammy  sat  in  a 
daze;  he  had  not  heard. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  what  I  said?" 

"Did  you  speak,  dad?" 
142 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Speak?  Why,  I  have  been  haranguing 
for  fifteen  minutes." 

"About  her— Imogene  ?" 

"Hell,  no — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was 
talking  of  what  a  fine  street  this  is  out  here. 
Feel  sleepy?" 

This  aroused  him.  "Sleepy?  No,  I  don't 
feel  as  if  I  could  ever  sleep  again.  I  have 
been  trying  to  recall  some  word  that  I  said 
to  her,  so  that  I  might  get  at  her  answer  to  it, 
but  I  can't.  I  kept  my  head  by  holding  it  on 
with  my  hands,  but  along  toward  the  last  it 
got  out  of  my  grasp — thought  I  felt  my  very 
hair  slipping  through  my  fingers;  and  I 
couldn't  see." 

"My  boy,  you  behaved  better  than  you 
think." 

"I  hope  so,  for  I'm  not  able  to  think.  I 
tell  you  she  has  poisoned  me  with  her  eyes, 
and  lest  I  might  recover,  she  showered  upon 
me  the  sweet  pestilence  of  her  words." 

The  American  moved  closer  to  him,  looked 
at  him  and  said:  "Are  you  sure  you  studied 
electricity  at  that  institute?  By  George,  I 
should  think  you'd  given  the  most  of  your 
time  to  reading  the  reports  of  an  insane  asy 
lum.  But  why  should  I  speak  thus,  since 

143 


An  American  in  New  York 

when  was  it  that  love  ceased  to  be  a  mad 
ness?  Where  does  this  girl  live?" 

"Somewhere  in  Maine,  I  believe.  And 
thank  God,  she's  not  rich.  Her  aunt  paid  for 
her  education — educated  the  brother,  too,  I 
understood.  Wish  to  the  Lord  she  was  ig 
norant — wish  she  couldn't  spell  cat." 

"I  suppose  you  wish  she  was  a  scrub  girl." 

"I  do,"  he  exclaimed,  bounding  out  of  his 
chair.  "I'll  swear  I  do.  I  wish  she  were 
the  daughter  of  a  raftsman.  I'd  marry  her, 
float  out  on  a  raft  with  her  and  stay  there 
forever.  Was  it  you  that  told  me  my  father 
went  insane  about  a  woman?" 

"I  never  told  you  that,  Sammy.  You  must 
have  woven  it  in  the  loom  of  your  own  dis 
eased  brain." 

"No,  I  didn't.  Some  one  told  me.  It  was 
about  my  mother  he  went  insane." 

"When  she  died  we  did  believe  that  he 
had  lost  his  mind." 

"No,  it  was  before  she  died.  He  went  to 
her,  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  cocked  it  and 
swore  that  unless  she  would  agree  to  marry 
him  he  would  blow  his  head  off,  and  the  story 
goes  that  she  flew  to  his  arms  to  keep  him 
from  killing  himself.  But  I  want  to  tell 
144 


An  American  in  New  York 

you  right  now  that  I'm  strong  enough  to 
teach  this  girl  a  lesson.  I'm  going  to  win 
her  with  the  sweet  melody  of  indifference." 

uDo  you  remember  what  they  said  of  the 
little  fellow  that  had  been  given  to  Falstaff? 
'Hath  not  the  boy  profited?'  I  can  see,  sir, 
as  I  never  saw  before,  that  you  have  been 
associating  with  me;  and  you  have  profited, 
I  fear,  just  about  as  much  as  that  boy  did. 
The  evil  words  we  learn  come  out  in  our 
moments  of  insanity.  We  learn  wisdom  and 
it  lies  dormant,  probably  never  to  come  out." 

"Dad,  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay 
here?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  leave  you  here  in 
this  fix." 

"And  by  the  Love  of  the  Lord,  you  can't 
take  me  away  in  this  fix.  That's  certain. 
Would  it  be  well  to  tell  her  that  I  have  pros 
pects?" 

"No,  don't  tell  her.  And  as  I  requested 
before,  don't  tell  the  Widow  anything  about 


me." 


"Are  you  going  to  win  her,  if  you  can?" 

"What  the   deuce   do   I   want   with   her? 

She'd  make  a  painted  stick  of  me — a  red  and 

yellow  monkey.    She  is  wise,  but  her  wisdom 

145 


An  American  in  New  York 

is  of  the  worldly  sort,  and  I  don't  think  that 
she  would  value  a  man  except  as  he  could 
be  of  advantage  to  her  in  a  social  way,  and 
of  course  I  can  buy—  "  he  hesitated.  "But 
it's  an  intoxication  to  be  near  her.  I  am  now 
on  a  spree  and  I  don't  know  how  long  it 
may  last.  What's  that?  She  might  consent 
to  marry  me?  Why,  Sammy,  if  I  were  as 
crazy  about  her  as  you  are  about  that  girl 
Imboden,  I— 

"What's  that?  Gracious  alive!  dad,  her 
name  is  Imogene." 

"That  so?  I  thought  it  was  Imboden. 
But  it's  all  the  same.  As  I  was  saying,  I 
might  be  as  crazy  about  her  as  you  are  over 
Imogene,  and  yet  I  wouldn't  marry  her.  Bet 
ter  to  be  miserable  without  her  than  more 
miserable  with  her." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  halted 
for  a  time  at  the  window  and  looked  out. 
Some  of  the  myriad  eyes  of  the  night  had 
gone  blind;  noises  had  ceased,  and  whence 
had  come  a  roar,  now  came  the  occasional 
clap,  clap,  of  horse  hoofs  on  the  asphalt  road. 

"There  is  escape  for  me,  as  there  always 
has  been,  Sammy,"  he  said,  slowly  resuming 
his  walk,  "but  I  don't  see  any  way  out  of  it 
146 


An  American  in  New  York 

for  you.  That  is,  only  one  way,  and  we 
must  win  her.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
she's  not  worth  having  unless  she  marries 
you  for  yourself.  You've  got  a  quick — a 
devilish  good  mind,  with  a  touch  of  poetry  in 
it,  and  this  impels  me  to  remark  that  unless 
a  mind  has  this  quality  it  is  worthless.  You 
know  I'm  a  believer  in  the  soul,  and  the  mind 
is  the  struggling  agent  of  the  soul.  I  am  not 
sufficiently  educated  to  be  a  scientist,  and  I 
am  not  enough  of  a  materialist  to  be  over 
practical.  So,  the  only  thing  that  is  kft  for 
me  to  believe  in  is  the  real  existence  of  the 
soul.  It  was  only  by  accident  that  I  could 
ever  have  been  worth  anything  financially, 
and  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that 
wealth  is  a  matter  of  luck.  What's  luck? 
There  you've  got  me.  Industry  doesn't  al 
ways  mean  even  a  bare  competency.  It  is 
old  but  it  never  ceases  to  be  true  that  merit 
is  not  always  rewarded.  Gad,  it's  rarely  re 
warded.  I  knew  an  old  fellow  named  Tal- 
bott,  and " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  dad,  but  really  I  can't 
stand  for  a  story." 

"Not  a  love  story?" 

147 


An  American  in  New  York 

"No,  for  they  are  all  tame  compared  with 
my  own." 

"That  is  what  millions  of  men  and  women 
have  thought." 

"But  do  you  believe  that  millions  have 
been  as  crazy  as  I  am?" 

"At  some  time,  yes.  But  if  it  is  any  con 
solation  for  you  to  believe  that  you  are  alone, 
all  right.  And  I  guess  there  is  a  sort  of  conso 
lation  in  it.  When  a  man  is  utterly  miserable 
he  is  helped  by  the  thought  that  he's  the  most 
miserable  man  in  the  world.  Yes,"  he  said, 
halting  in  front  of  the  young  fellow  and  look 
ing  at  him,  "we  must  win  her.  And  it  can 
be  done." 

"What,  can  be  done?  Do  you  think  she 
is  so  cheap?" 

"What  a  draftsman  of  difficulties.  If  she's 
mortal  she  may  be  won,  and  if  she  isn't,  she'd 
make  a  devilish  poor  wife." 

The  young  fellow  sat  down,  leaned  over 
with  his  face  in  his  hands,  slowly  raising  the 
hindmost  legs  of  the  chair  off  the  floor.  "Dad, 
I'm  sorry  that  this  came  on  me  just  at  this 
time." 

"Why  not  this  time  as  well  as  any  other? 
Sorry?     I'm  not.     It  tickles  me.     Somehow 
148 


An  American  in  New  York 

I'd  got  it  into  my  head  that  such  a  thing  died 
out  when  Grant  stood  face  to  face  with  Lee. 
I  was  but  a  child  then,  but  now  it  seems 
that  then  I  grieved  over  the  death  of  ro 
mance  in  America.  Yet  how  could  it  be 
since  the  soul  is  ever  fresh?  Sammy,  I  will 
confess  to  you  that  if  I  were  wise  I'd  pick  up 
and  go  home.  I've  told  you  many  a  time 
that  I've  been  in  love,  and  in  a  way  I  was,  but 
I  knew  that  it  would  pass  away,  into  a  dream, 
half  remembered.  This  time,  however,  it  is 
a  little  more  difficult  to  dispel;  and  when  you 
found  me  at  the  door,  with  my  bags  and  my 
bundles,  I  was  debating  whether  or  not  to 
go,  weakening,  too,  toward  the  weak  side — 
not  to  go.  I  didn't  want  to  acknowledge  to 
myself  that  she  was  holding  me  here." 

"Win  her,  dad — marry  her." 

"Do  you  counsel  this  when  you  are  my 
heir?" 

uYes,  I  do,  dad." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  young  fellow's 
head.  "You've  got  a  soul  worthy  of  that 
game  father  of  yours,  Sammy,  and  of  that 
beautiful  mother.  I  don't  suppose  you  can 
more  than  remember  her.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  she  had  always  just  come  out  of  the 
149 


An  American  in  New  York 

wild  woods,  where  the  vines  cling;  and  al 
ways  on  her  lips  there  was  the  stain  of  the 
grape." 

"Dad."  The  young  fellow  took  both  the 
Colonel's  hands  in  his  own.  "Dad,  did  you 
love  her?" 

"She  walked  down  out  of  the  hills,  like 
spring  time  coming;  and  what  an  odd  fancy, 
but  I  always  thought  that  I  could  see  music 
hidden  in  her  hair,  sweet  little  tunes;  and 
afterward  I  heard  her  singing  them  to  you." 

"Did  you  love  her,  dad?" 

"Yes — God,  yes.  Well,  let  us  turn  in. 
Good-night." 


150 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MR.  JOSEPH  AUKWALL  SKIDDER. 

On  the  following  morning  the  young  fel 
low  said  that  he  felt  a  trifle  saner,  for  even 
insanity  has  its  moods.  Contrary  to  his  ex 
pectations  he  had  slept  and  had  not  dreamed, 
so  weary  was  his  mind  with  its  own  com 
pany.  The  Colonel  called  at  his  room,  to 
take  him  down  to  breakfast,  and  in  the  cafe 
he  sat  where  he  could  command  a  clear  view 
of  the  entrance,  but  finding  that  there  was 
more  than  one  way  to  get  into  the  room,  he 
divided  his  attention  until  the  Colonel  re 
lieved  him  by  saying:  "She'll  not  come  in 
here,  Sammy.  This  is  a  snack  room  for 
men  and  not  the  one  where  we  were  yester 
day.  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day?" 

"What  can  I  do?  I'm  not  in  a  position 
to  rush  matters.  Dad,  sometime  when  you're 
in  the  humor  will  you  tell  me  more  about — 
my  mother?" 

"Not  now,  Sammy." 

"No,  but  when  you  are  in  the  humor,  I 
said.  Will  you?" 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Yes,  sometime  I'll  tell  you  all  you  need 
to  know." 

"Shouldn't  I  know  all  about  her?'1 

"Perhaps  not.  But  we'll  not  talk  about  it 
now.  Sammy,  would  you  like  to  live  in  this 
town?" 

"Oh,  I  should  think  that  anybody  would 
like  to  live  here.  I  can't  imagine  anything 
more  fascinating  than  life  at  full  tide,  and 
this  is  the  flood.  And  where  there  are  so 
many  people  there  must  be  ennobling  ideas." 

"Well,  yes,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Wish  that 
damned  waiter  wouldn't  walk  like  a  cata 
mount.  Always  ideas  where  there  are  peo 
ple.  Take  all  the  people  away  and  there 
wouldn't  be  any  ideas.  You  got  two  spoons? 
Thank  you.  But  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  the  greater  the  multitude  the  greater  the 
thought.  It  has  been  said  that  the  majority 
is  never  right,  but  I  don't  take  to  this  notion, 
for  it  would  destroy  all  idea  of  popular  gov 


ernment." 


"Dad,  was  the  old  South  much  in  favor  of 
popular  government?" 

"Of  course — a  government  popular  with 
those  who  administered  it."  He  laughed. 
"The  South  held  a  peculiar  sort  of  aristoc- 
152 


An  American  in  New  York 

racy,  Sammy.  It  was  always  conservative. 
If  it  had  a  riot  it  was  over  principle  and  not 
over  tea.  Chatham,  in  his  famous  speech 
on  America — the  last  spurt  of  his  genius,  pale 
and  on  crutches,  declared  that  the  South  was 
still  sound.  It  was  not  because  our  forefath 
ers  had  inherited  no  love  of  liberty,  but  be 
cause  they  were  conservative.  Wait  a  mo 
ment,  you  are  going  to  speak  of  the  war." 

uOh,  no,  I'll  not  start  you  on  that,  dad." 

"I  thank  you.  But  the  war  was  an  upris 
ing  on  the  part  of  the  South  in  favor  of  con 
servatism.  Good  deal  like  the  fellow  that 
fought  to  keep  the  peace,  but  it  is  a  fact.  The 
South  demanded  consistency  under  the  Con 
stitution,  and  that  was  conservatism.  Now 
this  bill  of  fare  said  corn  cakes,  and  if  they 
haven't  put  sugar  in  'em  I'm  the  biggest  liar 
in  the  world.  Now  let's  see.  What  do  you 
want  to  do  after  breakfast?" 

"Nothing." 

"Hard  to  arrange.  See  that  old  stock 
broker  over  there — white  hair  and  mustache  ? 
I'll  bet  he  made  or  lost  fifty  thousand  yester 
day." 

"Haven't  you  been  worth  one  day  fifty 
thousand  more  than  the  day  before?" 

153 


An  American  in  New  York 

"But  I  didn't  make  it  with  my  nerves.  But 
look  here,  boy,  don't  let  fall  anything  about 
what  I  may  be  worth.  You  and  I  are  men  in 
ordinary  circumstances,  you  understand?  Let 
the  girl  believe  that  you  intend  to  follow  your 
calling — that  you  had  to  learn  a  trade,  so  to 
speak.  Don't  get  acquainted  with  any  of 
these  newspaper  fellows.  It  is  dangerous 
even  to  know  them." 

"But  you  can't  hide  yourself  all  the  time, 
dad.  They'll  find  you  out  sooner  or  later." 
The  American  laughed  as  if  pleased  and 
not  a  little  flattered  by  the  notion  that  he  must 
surely  be  found  out;  and  having  shown  that 
he  was  alive  to  the  compliment  of  unsubmerg- 
ible  identity,  he  must  protest  against  the  ap 
parent  egotism  of  it  all;  so  he  assumed  a  sort 
of  slouchy  air,  always  with  him  an  outward 
sign  that  inwardly  he  must  consider  himself  of 
no  particular  value  to  the  world,  and  remarked: 
uAnd  my  complete  discovery  couldn't  mean  a 
great  deal,  Sammy.  Of  course,  it  could  be 
flailed  into  a  sort  of  sensation — this  infernal 
waiter  leaves  too  much  to  the  imagination. 
You  know  in  a  book  or  a  play  I  like  a  good 
deal  left  to  the  imagination,  but  not  in  a  res 
taurant.  I'll  just  leave  his  tip  to  his  own  imag- 


An  American  in  New  York 

ination  and  then  let  him  settle  as  to  its  degree 
of  vividness.  Kindliness  is  all  very  well,  but 
justice  is  the  noblest  quality  in  man.  Some 
times  we  are  wounded  by  an  execution  of  the 
demands  of  justice;  and  if  we  are  weak,  we 
fail  and  the  cause  of  mankind  suffers.  In 
this  instance  I  shall  not  yield  to  weakness; 
and  always  after  this  I  shall  be  strong  enough 
to  be  just.  I'll  begin  on  this  infamous  waiter. 
Here,  you,  help  me  on  with  my  overcoat." 

In  a  half-hearted  way  the  waiter  assisted 
him.  "I  guess  you'd  call  it  a  top  coat,"  said 
the  Colonel,  turning  about  with  a  glower, 
"but  I  am  here  to  tell  you  that  it's  an  over 
coat,  a  name  finally  and  permanently  estab 
lished  by  the  outcome  of  the  War  of  1812. 
But  of  course  you  don't  pay  any  attention  to 
such  matters." 

The  waiter  bowed.  "It's  hard  for  me  to 
pay  any  attention  to  anything  about  me  this 
morning,  sir;  and  if  I  haven't  served  you  as 
well  as  you  thought  I  ought,  I  beg  your  par 
don  and  promise  to  do  better  another  time." 
He  turned  to  go.  The  Colonel  spoke,  and  re 
spectfully  he  halted.  "What's  the  trouble 
with  you  to-day?" 

"My  little  boy  isn't  expected  to  live,  sir." 

155 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Hah?  What's  that?  My  dear  fellow, 
it  is  I  who  must  ask  your  pardon.  Don't  bow 
to  me — I'm  nothing  this  morning  but  an  or 
dinary  grizzly  bear.  Er — you  go  home — 
right  now,  and  your  interest  here  sha'n't  suf 
fer.  And  you  bring  all  the  bills  to  me. 
Here,  you'll  need  this."  He  pressed  into 
the  waiter's  hand  a  piece  of  gold.  "Bills  here 
to  me,  you  understand,  and  if  you  fail  I'll 
have  you  discharged.  You  can't  trifle  with 
me,  sir.  I  won't  have  it.  You  don't  know 
who  I  am.  Now  you  go  on  home."  He  took 
hold  of  Sammy's  arm  and  strode  out,  mutter 
ing  as  he  went:  "But  you  can't  always  recog 
nize  Justice.  She  is  not  only  blind  herself, 
but  sometimes  she  has  a  way  of  dimming  the 
sight  of  others.  It's  a  damned  shame — every 
thing  is  a  damned  shame.  Let's  go  out  and 
get  the  air — down  Broadway." 

In  some  city,  Denver,  Salt  Lake  or  Ogden, 
the  Colonel  had  found  a  cigar  that  supplied 
every  demand  of  his  fancy,  and  though  he 
had  not  retained  the  name,  if  indeed  he  had 
taken  notice  of  it  at  the  time,  he  was  continu 
ously  looking  for  that  particular  brand.  The 
cigar  had  been  grabbed  hastily,  between 
trains,  and  he  could  not  remember  whether 

156 


An  American  in  New  York 

it  was  intended  to  lend  fame  to  a  statesman 
or  add  luster  to  a  prima  donna,  but  he  re 
called  the  fact  or  at  least  the  supposed  fact 
that  it  was  of  medium  strength  and  cost  ten 
cents.    These  two  features  were  little  enough 
for  the  establishment  of  an  identity,  but  he 
accepted  them  as  clues  in  his  search  and  won 
dered  at  the  stupidity  of  cigar  dealers.    Upon 
justice  the  American  was  still  harping  when 
he    turned    into    a    tobacco    shop.    Sammy 
waited  while  the   Colonel   told  his   story  to 
the   Italian   dealer.      "Of  course   you   don't 
keep  the  cigars  that  people  want,"  said  the 
American.     "So  far  as  the  price  is  concerned, 
sir,  I  don't  give  a  snap.     No,  that  isn't  it. 
I  don't  suppose  they  ever  made  but  two  of 
them — just  two,  and  they  were  meant  as  a 
tantalization.      Why    didn't  I  remember  the 
name  ?    Why  don't  you  remember  the  name  ? 
It's  your  business  to  remember  such  things." 
A  curly  haired  boy  ran  out  from  a  rear  room. 
"That  youngster — was  he  born  in  this  coun 
try?     I'm  glad  to  know  it.    He  may  make 
a  good  citizen.      You've  never  been  West? 
\Vould  like  to  go?    Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear 
you  say  that,  any  way.     I'll  take  a  dollar's 
worth  of  these,"  and  as  he  went  out  he  said 

157 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  Sammy,  "That  fellow  is  rather  intelligent 
or  I  mean  rather  broad-minded  for  a  for 
eigner." 

"He  was  working  you,"  said  Sammy. 

"Working  me?  Now  do  you  suppose  that 
there's  a  man  on  the  face  of  God's  earth  who 
can  do  that  ?  After  a  while  you'll  give  it  out 
that  the  waiter  worked  me." 

"No,  he  was  genuine,  dad;  and  another 
good  mark  has  gone  up  for  you." 

"I  don't  like  such  talk  as  that  Sammy.  Do 
you  think  I'm  a  boy  in  school,  striving  for 
credit  marks?" 

They  walked  along  smoking  in  silence,  and 
though  the  youngster  had  at  the  Institute 
been  something  of  an  athlete,  the  American 
set  him  a  lively  pace  with  his  long  stride,  a 
sort  of  loose-jointed  swing  of  the  South. 
"There's  a  theatre  over  there,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "that  has  been  the  scene  of  many  a 
triumph — Daly's —  and  I  can  remember  when 
every  ham  actor  that  came  West  professed  to 
have  had  an  interminable  run  here.  But  it's 
changed  now.  Fashion  has  shifted  its  favor 
further  up  this  shoe-string  island."  They 
were  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  theatre, 


An  American  in  New  York 

but  the  Colonel  halted  and  gazed  at  it,  mut 
tering  to  himself. 

"I  don't  see  anything  interesting  about  it, 
dad." 

"No?  But  it  may  hold  an  interest  for 
you  when  I  have  told  you  something.  Your 
mother  played  there,  a  child,  years  ago;  and 
once  she  showed  me  some  red  powder — dust 
of  the  roses  that  were  showered  upon  her, 
beautiful  little  thing." 

The  boy  grasped  his  arm.  "More,"  he 
said. 

"Not  now — not  here.  Let  us  wait  for  a 
season." 

"But,  dad,  your  seasons  are  sometimes  so 
long.  Why  all  this  mystery?  Why  don't 
you  tell  me?" 

"I  will  when  we  drop  into  lunch  at  some 
quiet  place." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  the  Colonel 
thinking  of  the  girl  with  the  dust  of  the  rose 
leaves,  and  the  boy  with  his  mind  on  the  girl 
who  to  him  uttered  roses  when  she  talked.  The 
air  was  brisk  and  cold,  but  at  Madison  Square 
they  halted  and  sat  down  upon  a  bench.  An 
oldish  man,  shabby  and  with  distress-limp 
well  rehearsed,  came  along  and  stopped  in 

159 


An  American  in  New  York 

front  of  them.  "Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "won't 
you  please  help  me  along  a  little?  I'm  hun 
gry  and  if  you'll  please  give  me  a  few  cents 


"Not  to  get  anything  to  eat  with,"  the 
Colonel  broke  in.  "I  was  reading  in  a  medi 
cal  journal  the  other  day  that  we  never  run 
so  great  a  risk  as  we  do  while  eating.  Mi 
crobes  have  dropped  into  the  habit  of  getting 
on  everything  we  eat,  and  they  are  growing 
worse  all  the  time.  They  are  coming  from 
Europe  by  the  boat  load  and  it  is  said  that 
one  ham  sandwich  contains " 

"But,  gentlemen,  I  am  starving,"  the  beg 
gar  protested. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  Colonel,  "but  it's 
better  to  starve  in  a  genteel  sort  of  way  than 
to  be  murdered  by  microbes." 

Sammy  looked  in  surprise  at  his  step 
father.  The  American  was  exhibiting  a  new 
phase  of  character,  and  he  seemed  deeply  con 
cerned,  for  his  face  was  serious.  But  could 
he  remain  hard  against  so  distressful  an  ap 
peal?  "Now,"  the  Colonel  began,  "if  you 
were  a  drinking  man,  you ' 

"My  dear  sir,  I  never  took  a  drink  in  my 
life." 

1 60 


An  American  in  New  York 

"And  that's  just  the  trouble.  You  have 
been  sober  all  your  life,  and  that's  the  sort 
of  a  man  the  microbes  are  looking  for. 
The  article  I  was  reading  said  that  they 
would  swim  a  river  to  get  at  a  sober  man. 
They  are  all  arrayed  on  the  side  of  enmity 
against  the  temperance  cause.  Whisky  is  bad 
and  I  wouldn't  counsel  any  one  to  use  it — 
except  in  the  arts — but  if  you  could  take  a 
drink  of  rye  before  eating  you  might  escape 
with  comparatively  little  risk.  But  as  I  say, 
I  couldn't  possibly  advise  anyone  to  shift  one 
evil  and  take  up  another.  The  one  drink  in 
tended  to  protect  you  against  microbes  might 
cause  you  to  form  the  habit  of  drunkenness." 

"Not  me,  sir.  I  know  myself  well,  and 
I  could  drink  or  let  it  alone." 

"Yes,  and  that's  what  they  all  do,  one  or 
the  other.  But  I'm  afraid.  Good-day." 

"But  my  dear  sir,  I  give  you  the  word  of 
an  honest  man  that  I  would  take  but  one 
drink." 

"Dangerous  if  you  never  took  one  before." 

"Oh,  I  may  have  taken  a  drink — years 
ago." 

"Well,  yes,  but  a  man  changes  every  seven 
161 


An  American  in  New  York 

years,  and  you  might  not  be  strong  enough  to 
resist  now.  Good-day." 

"You  don't  know  my  strength,  sir.  I  am 
so  strong  morally  that  it  makes  me  weak 
physically." 

'That's  very  good.  But  the  weakest  man 
is  always  conscious  of  a  strength,  of  some 
sort,  and  I  don't  care  to 

"But  I'm  famishing." 

"A  matter  for  congratulation,  sir.  Re 
member  what  the  rich  man  said  to  the  beg 
gar — that  he  would  give  half  his  fortune  for 
his  appetite?" 

"Sir,  I  didn't  expect  such  treatment." 

"Had  no  right  to  expect  any  at  all,  had 
you?  I  have  given  you  my  society,  and  in 
this  town  that  counts  for  a  great  deal — they 
give  me  to  understand.  I  have  given  to  you 
the  benefit  of  my  reading,  and  that  ought  to 
count  for  something.  Er — what  is  or  has 
been  your  business?" 

"I  am  an  actor,  sir." 

"Actor.  Haven't  they  got  a  home  here 
for  actors?" 

"Sir,  there  is  a  sort  of  asylum  for  a  cer 
tain  sort  of  actor,  but  in  order  to  enter  into 
it  with  any  degree  of  honor  one  must  have 
162 


An  American  in  New  York 

at  some  time  been  pampered  by  society.  In 
this  life,  sir,  there  are  very  few  asylums  for 
the  rank  and  file.  One  must  be  insane — or 
have  some  distinguishing  mark.  My  only 
distinction  lies  in  the  fact  that  I  was  never 
a  rage." 

"Tragedy?" 

"Off  the  stage,  sir.  Married  a  woman 
with  a  poodle.  Loved  her,  for  she  was 
bright,  handsome;  she  loved  the  dog  better 
than  she  did  me — said  that  he  never  came 
home  drunk." 

"I  thought  you  didn't  drink." 

"Sir,  the  fact  that  the  dog  didn't  drink 
does  not  argue  that  I  did.  My  wife  was 
jealous " 

"And  yet  didn't  love  you?" 

"Ah,  one  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  stage. 
She  was  jealous  because  the  man  she  loved 
was  in  love  with  another  woman.  I  was  not 
the  man.  This  drove  me — to  hunger.  I  was 
about  to  say  drink." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Sir,  I  have  played  Uncle  Tom.  Don't 
ask  me." 

"A    sad    confession,"    said    the    Colonel. 

163 


An  American  in  New  York 

"But  in  resignation  there  is  a  sort  of  nobility. 
Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"I  should  be  pleased  to  if  I  thought  there 
was  anything  in  it."  He  took  off  his  plug 
hat  and  brushed  it  with  his  sleeve.  He  said 
that  his  appearance  was  somewhat  against 
him.  In  the  basement  wherein  he  had  lodged 
the  night  before  there  were  a  cat  and  several 
kittens.  During  the  night  they  had  essayed 
to  have  fun  with  his  hat.  He  was  shabby 
and  no  longer  young;  about  him  there  was  a 
pathos  'conquered  by  humor,  and  the  Ameri 
can  liked  him,  and  regarded  him  as  a  find,  a 
genial  pick  up.  "Sit  down,  please,"  he  said, 
"and  after  a  few  moments  we'll  go  and  get 
whatever  you  want — bread  or  wine." 

The  actor  smiled  as  he  sat  down  beside 
the  American.  "I'd  just  as  lieve  it  would  be 
wine,"  said  he.  "The  fact  is  I  feel  some 
what  ashamed  that  I  strove  to  touch  you  by 
fraud.  But  a  man  in  need  of  a  drink  feels 
not  the  humiliation  of  any  sort  of  shift." 

"Weren't  you  sharp  enough  to  know  that 
the  food  idea  could  be  seen  through  by — 
me?"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Yes,  almost  instantly,  and  I  knew  that 
164 


An  American  in  New  York 

you  were  stringing  me.  I  take  you  to  be  a 
man  of  importance — out  where  you  live." 

"Out  where  I  live.  How  do  you  know 
that  I  live  out?" 

"Well,  you  don't  look  as  if  you  lived  here. 
Now  if  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  take  my 
address  as  a  receipt  for  the  small  amount 
which  you  are  now  almost  forced  by  common 
courtesy  to  lend  me,  I " 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  to  be  a  small 
amount?" 

"My  dear  sir,  persistent  disappointment 
has  warned  me  not  to  hope." 

"What  do  you  consider  a  small  amount?" 

"The  price  of  a  drink — at  present." 

"And  a  large  amount?" 

"Anything  above  a  dollar — in  these  cos- 
termonger  times." 

"Costermonger  times,"  repeated  the  Col 
onel.  "You  have  never  played  in  that  play 
—Henry  IV." 

"No,  but  in  other  Shakespearean  revivals 
I  have  ranged  with  lowly  livers  not  in  con 
tent,  but  scrapping  for  my  weekly  stipend. 
Shakespeare  breaks  out  in  the  country  once 
in  a  while,  and  then  I  find  for  a  time  that 
the  hawthorne  bush  has  a  sweeter  shade  than 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  awning;    but  as  a  general  thing  I  walk 
back.     Here  is  my  address." 

The  Colonel  took  the  card,  with  the  name 
Joseph  Aukwall  Skidder  printed  and  the 
name  of  some  unheralded  boarding  house 
written  with  a  blunt  pencil. 

"I  suppose  you  have  played  at  Daly's,  in 
the  mellow  years  gone  by." 

"Yes,  in  the  years  as  mellow  as  candle 
light.  There  I  was  presented  to  Clara  Mor 
ris — recommended  to  her,  in  fact,  in  the  play 
as  a  footman.  I  was  callow,  from  Maine, 
and  was  scared  almost  out  of  my  wits,  but 
a  child,  little  Mary  Barksdale,  took  me  by 
the  hand Eh,  sir?" 

The  Colonel  had  jumped  to  his  feet. 
"Played  with  her?  She  was  this  young 
chap's  mother.  Sammy,  shake  hands  with 
Mr.  Skidder." 

They  shook  hands  all  around.  The  plug 
hat  was  shaken  off  and  it  fell  on  the  gravel, 
but  Mr.  Skidder,  saying  that  it  was  of  no  mo 
ment,  wiped  it  writh  his  sleeve,  to  shake  hands 
again  and  to  congratulate  himself  that  he 
had  found  not  only  friends  but  almost  rela 
tives.  He  began  to  talk  about  the  girl  who  had 
saved  him  from  his  embarrassment,  but  the 
1 66 


An  American  in  New  York 

Colonel  shut  him  off  with  the  flash  of  a  bank 
note,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  on 
the  proper  occasion  they  would  discuss  her, 
which  to  Sammy  meant  that  the  season  was 
again  to  be  deferred,  and  to  the  actor  it 
meant  so,  too,  for  discreetly  he  held  his  peace, 
until  the  Colonel  gave  him  ten  dollars,  and 
then  he  broke  forth  with  a  monologue  of 
gratitude.  The  Colonel  intimated  that  of 
course  he  would  get  drunk,  but  he  protested. 
He  said  that  a  man  would  often  get  drunk 
on  one  dollar,  whereas  ten  dollars,  inspiring 
him  with  a  sense  of  responsibility,  would  be 
employed  to  better  purpose.  "An  inheritance 
brings  responsibility,  and  responsibility  carries 
with  it  a  sort  of  discretion,"  said  he,  shaking 
hands  again.  uAnd,  sir,"  he  said  to  the 
Colonel,  "I  wish  to  assure  you  that  this  shall 
not  stop  here." 

"I  reckon  not,"  replied  the  American. 
"You'll  touch  me  again." 

The  boy  laughed,  and  catching  from  his 
own  tones  a  remembered  note  in  the  voice  of 
Imogene,  fell  at  once  into  deep  sadness, 
thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  medi 
tatively  strolling  off  down  the  path. 

167 


An  American  in  New  York 

"In  love,  I  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Skidder, 
looking  after  him. 

"Shot  through  the  heart  with  a  wench's 
black  eye,"  replied  the  Colonel.  "Now  let 
me  see,"  he  added.  "I'm  not  always  to  be 
found,  but  I  am  putting  up  at  the  Waldorf, 
and—  The  actor  whistled.  There  was 

magic  in  that  name.  "Not  always  to  be 
found,"  the  Colonel  continued,  "but  you  are 
perfectly  welcome  to  come  around  and  look 
for  me.  I  don't  presume  to  offer  advice,  but 
try  to  do  the  best  you  can;  and  if  you  do,  I 
think  I  can  make  it  worth  your  while.  Good- 
day." 


168 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  XI  I. 

MONEY'S  BLIZZARD. 

They  got  on  a  car  and  were  hummed  and 
buzzed  down  into  the  tangle  of  the  town's 
deeper  jungle.  At  Chambers  Street  they 
left  the  car  and  walked  about,  with  no  ob 
ject  save  to  look  here  and  there  at  the  mon 
strous  vitascope  of  fret,  worry,  strife;  but 
the  boy  was  gazing  within  himself,  at  a  pic 
ture  in  his  own  heart,  and  nothing  without 
could  afford  more  than  a  glimpsing  interest. 
Into  Nassau  they  turned,  the  Colonel  com 
menting,  the  boy  silent.  Already  the  early 
editions  of  the  afternoon  papers  were  out, 
sensations  prefaced  with  eager  cries  of  grim 
little  merchants,  Arabs  of  the  street  shrewder 
than  Arabs  of  the  desert. 

"I  have  a  ticket  for  myself  and  one  to  the 
gallery  of  the  Stock  Exchange, "  said  the 
American.  "I  want  to  show  you  that  place. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  it?" 

"Yes,  anything." 

"Sammy,  you'd  better  telephone  up  to  the 
hotel  and  have  them  send  your  mind  down 
169 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  you.  Let  us  cross  here.  Look  out  for 
that  hell-bent  machine.  A  man  that  would 
so  far  forget  the  beauty  and  the  romance  of 
a  horse  as  to  take  up  with  one  of  these  devil 
wagons  is  hardly  deserving  of  human  recog 
nition.  They  call  it  progress.  And  so  is  a 
run-away  railroad  train,  tumbling  down  the 
mountain,  since  progress  has  come  to  mean 
speed  and  nothing  more.  What  do  you  think 
of  that  old  actor?" 

uActor?  Oh,  the  man  we  saw  back  yon 
der.  I  had  forgotten  him.  Why,  I  guess 
he's  all  right  in  a  way." 

"Don't  you  remember  his  saying  that  your 
mother  took  him  by  the  hand  and  saved  him 
from  his  fright?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do.  But,  dad,  I'm  not  my 
self  to-day.  Down  in  Mexico  there  is  a  sort 
of  butterfly,  a  beautiful  thing,  that  stings;  but 
instead  of  inflicting  a  sharp  pain,  it  injects 
a  dead  sort  of  dream,  a  half  insanity,  and  the 
victim  fights  against  all  remedy.  He  wants 
to  be  stung  again  and  again,  until  he  dies.  It 
seems  that  I  have  been  stung  by  one  of  those 
butterflies." 

"I've  been  in  Mexico,  but  I  never  heard 
of  that  fly.  I  think  it  was  born  of  your  own 
170 


An  American  in  New  York 

fancy  and  stung  you  at  its  birth.  And  while 
the  dead  dream  is  on  you  I  don't  know  that 
it  would  be  of  advantage  or  even  of  interest 
for  you  to  look  at  anything." 

"No,  I  guess  not.  Dad,  don't  you  think 
it  would  be  well  for  me  to  tell  her  that  I'm 
not  a  pauper.  She  thinks  I  am." 

"Then  let  her  continue  to  think  so.  Un 
less  a  pauper  can  win  a  woman  she  isn't 
worth  having.  Unless  she  has  an  ambition 
to  assist  you  in  the  making  of  a  fortune  she 
is  a  misfortune.  This  may  sound  old  fash 
ioned,  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  were, 
but  for  that  matter,  so  is  love  itself  old  fash 
ioned." 

"I  am  afraid  to  run  the  risk,"  the  young 
fellow  protested.  "Dad,  the  fact  that  a  wo 
man  wants  to  know  that  a  man  is  worth 
something  is  no  evidence  that  she  desires  to 
sell  herself  to  the  highest  bidder.  Love  and 
poverty  don't  mix  well." 

The  American  cleared  his  throat.  "Yes, 
but  love  doesn't  know  that  until  it  finds  out 
by  experience;  and  love  ought  to  be  willing 
to  make  the  test.  Is  it  possible  that  you 
would  marry  her  whether  she  loves  you  or 
not?" 

171 


An  American  in  New  York 

"In  the  hope  that  I  could  finally  win  her 
love — yes,  I  am  afraid  so.  I'm  not  so  strong 
in  such  matters  as  I  thought  I  was." 

"Think  you  have  made  any  very  decided 
impression?" 

"Oh,  I  simply  seem  to  be  one  of  the  many 
that  come  along  the  path.  If  I  could  only 
speak  what  I  think,  not  about  love,  for  it's 
too  soon  for  me  to  talk  to  her  about  that,  but 
about  things  in  general,  books  and  the  like. 
I  can't,  however;  she  robs  me  and  leaves  me 
nothing  but  every-day  commonplaces.  Won 
der  how  it  would  do  to  go  to  one  of  these 
schools  of  oratory  and  take  a  few  lessons?" 
They  were  now  standing  on  a  corner,  back 
from  the  tide,  and  the  young  fellow  searched 
the  Colonel's  countenance,  evidently  in  the 
hope  of  finding  a  gleam  of  approval.  And 
there  was  a  gleam,  but  it  was  of  mirth.  "Sam 
my  !  I've  heard  of  a  good  many  absurdities, 
in  the  matter  of  love,  but  I'm  inclined  to  be 
lieve  that  this  takes  the  lead.  Why  not  go 
back  West,  get  into  the  legislature,  make 
speeches  and  then  come  back  here  and  ad 
dress  her?" 

"Don't  make  fun  of  me,  dad." 

"Surely  not.  If  you  think  that  oratory's 
172 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  thing,  why  not  lead  off  with  'I  come  not 
here  to  talk,'  and  so  on.  Convincing  her  that 
you  didn't  come  to  talk,  and  then  proceeding 
to  talk  you  might  capture  her." 

"Dad,  I  wouldn't  make  fun  of  your  love 
for  the  Widow." 

uBut  I  do,  Sammy.  Mind  you,  I  don't  re 
gard  her  as  living  in  a  dazzle  far  above  me. 
In  many  respects  I  believe  she's  shallow,  but 
I  believe  that  if  she  were  poor,  with  the 
same  graces  she  now  possesses,  I  would  like 
to  marry  her." 

"If  she  were  poor,  dad,  she  couldn't  have 
the  same  experiences,  and  without  these  she 
couldn't  have  the  same  graces." 

"Hah,  now  you're  talking.  Oh,  all  you 
need  is  to  be  stirred  up  a  bit.  You've  got 
the  mind." 

"Thank  you.  But  so  far  as  wealth  is  con 
cerned  you  could  give  her  a  better  position 
than  she  ever  had." 

"Yes,  but  some  women  are  wealthy  in 
tastes,  in  refinements,  and  she  is  one  of  them." 
He  stepped  back  a  little  further,  away  from 
the  edge  of  the  swelling  tide.  "Strange  talk 
to  be  holding  here,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  Sammy  replied,  "but  all  of  these 


An  American  in  New  York 

eager-faced  delvers  are  working  for  some  one 
other  than  themselves.  They  don't  differ  so 
much  from  the  men  that  dig  in  the  mines. 
They  haven't  as  much  heart,  perhaps." 

"That  is  where  I  am  inclined  to  think 
we  flatter  ourselves,"  said  the  American. 
"Roughness  doesn't  mean  inner  gentleness. 
Where  one  man  has  been  ennobled  by  pov 
erty,  a  million  have  been  made  better  by 
wealth.  Poverty  learns  to  hate  the  world 
— disappointed  poverty;  and  hate  has  never 
been  a  blessing.  I  should  put  it  down  that 
the  best  man  is  in  moderate  circumstances.  I 
mean  the  man  who  knows  that  he  never  can 
become  rich.  Let  us  go  on." 

Sammy  was  not  on  a  tour  of  surprises,  but 
looking  down  from  the  marble  gallery  upon 
the  turmoil  of  the  Stock  Exchange  was  enough 
to  challenge  his  interest  if  not  his  astonish 
ment.  And  this  was  the  place  whence  came 
the  panics  that  spread  over  the  country  and 
made  the  West  heart-sick  and  desolate.  Here 
was  the  furnace  wherein  values  were  shriveled 
and  fortunes  reduced  to  ashes.  It  was  more 
noisy  than  a  midnight  dance  up  the  gulch.  It 
would  seem  that  speculation  would  adopt 
quieter  methods,  that  neither  ruin  nor  gain 


An  American  in  New  York 

should  be  harassed  with  bellowings  and 
groans.  Down  there,  those  men  have  been 
compared  with  ants,  but  ants  are  orderly. 
They  were  more  like  apes,  in  that  they  all 
looked  old.  In  one  day's  time  that  furnace 
can  make  parchment  of  the  blithest  counte 
nance.  Here  at  this  railing  is  where  philoso 
phy  halts  and  is  dumfounded.  High  up 
there  on  the  wall  the  ticking  of  the  clock 
means  much.  What  changes  may  have  taken 
place  ere  the  hand  moves  over  the  five  minute 
space  ?  Speculators  in  bone  and  blood !  Hu 
man  agony  condensed  and  cashed!  How 
many  groans  in  that  piece  of  paper  fluttering 
in  a  nervous  hand?  The  thumping  heart  of 
Wall  street !  No  wonder  that  men  look  upon 
labor  with  contempt.  Was  not  this  a  scorn 
of  all  legitimate  investment?  It  makes  no 
difference  how  rich  may  be  the  harvest  field 
or  how  much  ore  has  come  from  the  mine,  a 
stampede  here  means  suicide  throughout  the 
country.  Gold  itself  seems  to  lose  value. 
Rich  lands  dwindle  in  worth.  Cancer  of  pre 
tended  civilization!  The  government  itself, 
with  its  treasury  house  bulging  out  with 
money,  is  afraid  of  this  place.  What  goes  on 
here  is  of  more  importance  than  a  war  across 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  sea.  At  luncheon,  between  hasty  swallows 
of  coffee,  presidents  are  nominated,  and,  yea, 
elected.  The  monied  interests  of  the  coun 
try — that  is  the  way  those  men  talk.  Gam 
bling  interests  of  the  gamblers!  Why,  there 
is  not  money  enough  in  the  world  to  liquidate 
their  failures.  It  has  been  written  of  more 
than  a  thousand  times.  Pulpits  have  roared 
or  squeaked  against  it,  measured  by  the  wrealth 
and  occupation  of  the  respective  church. 
Money's  blizzard  center! 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  the  Colonel 
inquired,  looking  down  upon  the  whirling 
scene. 

"It  doesn't  stimulate  so  much  of  thought 
as  of  wonder,"  Sammy  answered.  "Nothing 
that  I've  ever  read  of  it  has  given  me  an 
idea,  I  discover  now.  It  looks  like  a  stam 
pede  of  cattle." 

"Yes,  but  more  lacking  in  heart  than 
heifers  and  steers.  But  a  man  successful 
down  there,  Sammy,  is  of  more  importance 
in  this  town  than  any  statesman  in  the  coun 
try.  He  may  be  a  brute  in  appearance  and  in 
nature  and  he  may  be  as  dull  as  a  woman's 
pocket  knife,  but  the  newspaper  would  want 
no  better  special  than  something  he  has  said. 


An  American  in  New  York 

They  invent  things  for  him.  Some  obscure 
young  fellows  put  gems  in  the  clod's  mouth. 
For  a  day  he  rides  a  giant  horse,  high  in  the 
air,  but  there  comes  a  time  when  suddenly  the 
horse  stumbles  and  falls  and  in  the  dust  the 
great  man  rolls.  They  help  him  up,  dust 
him  off,  lead  him  away;  and  the  newspapers 
are  full  of  him,  but  no  more  gems  are  put 
into  his  mouth.  These  are  reserved  for  an 
other  clod,  riding  a  high  horse.  Obscurity 
is  desperate  for  the  fallen  one.  He  could 
not  sit  down  to  think.  His  life  has  been  the 
windy  whirl  of  shadows.  The  steady  shade 
is  loathsome  to  him.  He  hates  books,  de 
spises  man,  and  so  man  forgets  him,  the  read 
ers  of  the  newspapers,  grabbers  after  quick 
editions,  search  their  minds  and  can  just  recall 
having  heard  of  him.  Got  enough?" 

"I  had  enough  before  I  came  in,  dad. 
Shall  we  return  to  the  hotel?" 

"Not  now.  You  remember  1  spoke  of  tell 
ing  you  something  when  the  proper  season 
should  come.  Well,  it's  here  now.  Let  us 
go  to  a  restaurant." 

Off  from  the  jungle,  in  a  sort  of  swamp  of 
life,  they  found  a  quiet  place  that  looked  as 
if  it  were  about  ready  to  fall.  In  its  day  it 
177 


An  American  in  New  York 

had  no  doubt  been  a  famous  oyster  house, 
known  to  the  middle  manhood  of  Beecher 
and  Greeley,  but  it  was  no  such  thought  as 
this  that  commended  it  to  the  Colonel,  for 
Greeley  was  an  Abolitionist  whose  newspaper 
was  poisonous  to  the  South  and  Beecher  had 
in  England  spoken  against  Secession.  It  was 
wrong,  of  course — Secession;  but  at  the  time 
when  Beecher  had  spoken  and  Greeley  had 
written,  the  South  was  of  the  opinion  that 
slavery  was  just,  and  this  made  it  just  for 
the  time  being. 

When  asked  as  to  what  he  would  like  to 
eat  the  young  man  said  that  it  made  no  dif 
ference  with  him. 

"That's  all  right,  Sammy,  but  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  to  win  at  any  game  you  must 
eat,  and  deviled  ham  is  more  potent  than 
angel  food.  Before  you  drift  any  further  in 
your  present  sea  of  distress,  get  out  of  the 
foolish  notion  that  she  is  more  than  a  human 
being.  I  don't  see  anything  on  this  bill  of 
fare  that  tempts  me  very  much.  Frogs'  legs. 
Strike  you?" 

"Yes,  they're  all  right." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  them.  Yes,  sir, 
get  that  out  of  your  head.  You  know,  Sam- 


An  American  in  New  York 

my,  I  like  to  go  about  this  town  almost  per 
suading  myself  to  feel  that  I  am  too  poor 
to  buy  certain  things.  I  never  tried  to  feel 
economical — when  I  ought  to  have  done  so; 
but  now  I  like  to  imagine  that  I'm  poor,  and 
then,  in  all  fairness  to  truth,  I  somehow  feel 
a  better  human  being.  Do  I  contradict  my 
self?  Did  I  talk  differently  a  while  ago,  giv 
ing  you  to  understand  that  the  rich  are  noble  ? 
Well,  being  more  or  less  natural,  I  am  in 
consistent.  The  ship  that  would  avoid  the 
rocks  must  not  always  hold  to  the  same  course. 
I  am  rambling  along  here  until  I'm  forget 
ting  what  I  was  going  to  say.  Here,  young 
woman,"  he  called,  speaking  to  a  waitress, 
"don't  neglect  us  because  we  are  not  noisy." 
The  waitress  came  forward.  He  called  her 
child,  and  she  gave  to  him  a  receipt  for  the 
courtesy — bestowed  a  tired  smile.  He  asked 
her  about  her  home,  holding  in  front  of  him 
the  bit  of  paper  on  which  in  dim  purple  was 
mimeographed  a  list  of  resources,  blurred  rec 
ord  of  indigestion;  and  in  a  vague  way  she  re 
plied  that  she  had  no  home,  and  then  asked 
for  his  order.  She  was  tired,  and  sometimes 
weariness  looks  like  modesty  to  the  degree 
of  refinement;  so,  speaking  almost  indis- 
179 


An  American  in  New  York 

tinctly,  that  he  might  not  shock  her  with  the 
vigor  of  his  natural  voice,  he  said  that  he 
and  his  friend  would  take  frogs'  legs,  where 
upon  she  turned  and  shouted:  "Jumpers 
two.'1  He  looked  at  Sammy  and  winked,  but 
the  young  fellow  was  in  a  dream  and  did  not 
see  him.  The  girl  placed  two  glasses  of 
water  on  the  table.  "You  must  have  been 
up  late  last  night,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Yes." 

"Struggling  with  the  world?" 

"DancinV 

"Oh." 

"Coffee?" 

"Yes,  both  of  us." 

"Draw  two,"  she  shrieked.  Sammy  started 
as  if  stung  in  the  ear.  "Dancing,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "Well,  youth  must  trip  its  feet. 
You  liked  it,  of  course." 

"It  was  all  right.    Brown  or  white  bread?" 

"Makes  no  difference."  He  handed  her 
a  piece  of  silver.  "Thanks,"  she  said  and 
moved  off.  For  a  moment  the  American  re 
flected.  "They  are  all  of  them  human  be 
ings,  Sammy,  these  women.  Man,  the  brute, 
must  have  been  mothered  and  the  mother 
of  the  human  brute  must  have  been  human. 
1 80 


An  American  in  New  York 

Surgeons  say  that  woman  can  stand  more 
pain  than  a  man,  that  in  fact  her  machinery 
is  not  so  fine  a  piece  of  nerve  work." 

"It  is  because  woman  was  born  to  suffer 
more,"  said  Sammy. 

"Yes,  that  may  be  true.  I  know  they  can 
stand  more  cold." 

"Ah,"  said  the  boy,  "and  they  can  some 
times  freeze  a  man." 

"But  Imogene  is  not  trying  to  freeze  you, 
Sammy.  It  is  your  own  hot  imagination  that 
makes  you  shiver.  You  have  come  into  a 
sudden  warmth  and  are  not  yet  tempered  to 
it.  But  understand,  I  insist  that  you  must 
not  wreaken." 

"How  weaken?"  He  looked  up  as  if  his 
spirit  were  borne  upon  the  wave  of  a  sigh. 

"You  must  not  tell  her  that  you  have  any 
prospects  other  than  the  resources  of  your 
profession.  Then,  if  she  does  not  care  for 
you,  make  a  fool  of  yourself  and  catch  her 
some  other  way — if  ycu  are  so  resolved;  but 
unless  she  really  loves  you  she  is  not  worth 
picking  up  in  the  street.  Here  she  comes." 
Sammy  started.  "I  mean  the  girl  with  the 
jumpers." 


181 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SIM  GROGGIN. 

The  place  was  deserted  with  the  excep 
tion  of  the  girl,  who  now  in  the  rear  end  of 
the  room  was  sitting  in  oblivious  stupor.  For 
a  long  time  the  American  was  silent,  medi 
tatively  smoking;  and  then,  reaching  over  he 
put  his  hand  on  the  boy's  arm.  Sammy 
started.  "You  are  as  nervous  as  a  horse, " 
said  the  Colonel.  "I  was  going  to  tell  you 
about  something  that  happened  away  out 
yonder." 

"Yes— thank  you." 

"Can  I  bring  your  mind  down  to  it?" 
"I  can  bring  my  mind  up  to  it,  dad." 
"All    right.      I    was    just    thinking    how 
strange  it  is  that  we  should  be  here,  in  this 
wilderness  of  human  contention;  but  for  that 
matter  it  is  strange  that  we  or  anybody  should 
be  anywhere.    The  machine  makes  the  world 
practical,  but  it  does  not  explain  the  mystery 
of  life."     Again  he  was  silent  and  the  young 
man   waited.      "Click    City   was   on    a    tre 
mendous  boom,"  said  the  Colonel,  dropping 
182 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  stub  of  his  cigar  on  a  plate.  "Already 
there  were  half  a  dozen  brick  buildings  in  the 
town,  and  we  all  saw  that  it  was  to  become 
one  of  the  famous  places  of  the  world.  The 
seventh  brick  building  was  an  opera  house. 
The  date  for  the  grand  opening  was  set  for 
the  seventh  of  October.  The  company  had 
been  engaged  and  it  was  fresh  from  its  famous 
run  at  Daly's.  As  a  member  of  the  city  coun 
cil,  as  the  owner  of  a  corner  lot  or  so,  as  a 
prominent  and  promising  citizen,  I  was  in  a 
box  at  the  first  performance  of  the  'Heart  for 
Heart*  There  had  been  a  dinner  with  cham 
pagne  made  precious  with  its  long  wagon 
haul  across  the  mountains.  The  play  didn't 
amount  to  anything.  It  was  a  strain  of  senti 
ment  and  a  distress  that  could  have  been  re 
lieved  by  one  word  on  the  part  of  the  hero — 
one  simple  and  most  natural  word;  but  be 
fore  I  could  realize  how  it  came  about  I 
was  in  love — with  a  girl,  the  heroine,  Mary 
Barksdale ;  the  young  woman,  who,  as  a  child, 
took  that  fellow  Skidder  by  the  hand — 
your  mother."  The  young  man  leaned  toward 
him,  with  his  arm  on  the  table.  "Yes,"  he 
said,  his  dreamy  eyes  bursting  forth  into 
sparks.  "Yes,  go  on." 

183 


An  American  in  New  York 

"I  don't  know  that  she  was  beautiful.  If 
I'd  been  a  poet  I  couldn't  have  described 
her — couldn't  have  painted  her  if  I'd  been 
the  most  life-like  and  vivid  of  painters.  She 
came  as  a  soft  yellow  light,  and  with  her 
came  a  scent  from  the  flowers  that  grew  in 
out  of  the  way  places.  But  I'll  tell  it  as 
soberly  as  I  can." 

uNo,"  the  boy  protested,  reaching  over 
and  grasping  the  Colonel's  hand.  "No,  don't 
tell  it  that  way.  Make  it  wild — as  it  was. 
Let  your  story  gallop.  I  want  to  see  its  mane 
flowing  in  the  wind." 

"I'll  tell  it  as  best  I  can.  But  it  is  in 
coherent  at  best.  Yellow.  Yes,  she  was  a 
blond — spirit  of  the  gold  fields;  and  when  I 
heard  her  speak,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
would  smother  in  a  glad-grief.  I  can't  de 
scribe  that,  either;  it's  impossible,  and  no 
one  but  a  man  in  the  fix  that  you're  in  now 
could  listen  to  it  without  laughing.  It's  ab 
surd,  I  know.  Well,  I  sat  there,  killed,  em 
balmed,  mummied  by  her,  and  that  was  all 
I  could  remember.  After  the  performance 
there  was  more  champagne,  at  the  hotel,  and 
I  lived  and  died  in  spots.  I  got  a  glimpse  of 
that  spirit  of  pure  gold,  sitting  in  the  parlor; 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  then  I  was  dead  again — until  morning 
when  my  aching  head  awoke  me.  The  most 
of  the  night  had  been  a  dream  in  its  un 
reality,  but  the  vision  of  gold  was  stronger 
than  a  dream.  It  was  a  truth.  At  break 
fast  I  heard  some  news.  The  manager  of 
the  company  had  run  away  during  the  night, 
leaving  the  members  unpaid  and  penniless. 
A  soul  less  selfish  would  have  deplored  this 
state  of  affairs,  but  I  was  thankful  for  it. 
Now,  in  this  the  season  of  her  misfortune, 
I  might  be  permitted  to  approach  that  thrill 
ing  daughter  of  a  god  highest  on  Olympus, 
for  neither  virtue,  grace,  genius,  nothing  can 
be  safe  from  the  intrusive  familiarity  which 
misfortune  inspires.  A  saint  in  hard  luck  in 
fuses  no  spirit  of  reverence.  Not  that  I  did 
not  still  worship  this  goddess,  you  under 
stand,  Sammy.  Bless  you,  I  did,  but  hard 
luck  had  humanized  her  and  brought  her 
into  clearer  view.  So,  I  sent  my  card  up  to 
her  and  she  sent  down  word  that  she  would 
see  me  in  the  parlor.  Ah,  and  there  I  sat, 
talking  to  her.  I  don't  know  how  she  got 
into  the  room;  I  couldn't  tell  whether  she 
had  walked  or  floated,  but  there  she  was  and 
I  was  talking  to  her — gad,  about  mining 


An  American  in  New  York 

stocks  and  the  prospects  of  a  railroad.  Finally 
I  managed  in  what  might  to  her  have  ap 
peared  as  a  cool  sort  of  way  to  tell  her  that 
I  was  at  her  service  and  that  it  would  give 
me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure — business  pleas 
ure,  of  course,  to  help  her  to  the  next  town 
or  to  any  other  place  under  the  sun.  She 
laughed  a  sad  laugh  and  replied  that  to  her 
there  was  no  other  town.  She  had  no  home, 
no  prospects;  and  as  she  was  really  not  a 
success  on  the  stage,  she  did  not  look  for 
ward  to  another  engagement.  I  told  her 
that  it  was  my  understanding  that  she  was 
a  leading  lady  of  Daly's  and  at  this  her 
laughter  rang  out  like  a  zither  running  riot. 
What  one  was  advertised  by  a  cheap  man 
ager  to  be  and  what  one  really  was — how 
different,  she  said,  and  I  said  that,  yes,  I 
knew,  which  was  a  lie,  for  I  knew  nothing 
about  it.  All  this  time  I  was  thankful  to  find 
that  she  was  humanizing — or  I'd  better  say 
materializing;  and  I  found,  and  to  my  delight, 
too,  that  she  was  not  so  beautiful  as  she  had 
appeared  on  the  stage.  We  are  more  en 
couraged  by  a  flaw  than  a  perfection,  you 
know.  But  what  was  to  be  done?  If  she 
had  no  prospects,  how7  could  we  set  about  to 
186 


An  American  in  New  York 

make  them?  She  said  that  she  would  like  to 
quit  the  stage,  as  she  had  always  hated  it; 
and  she  didn't  know  but  that  she  might  find 
work  in  the  town.  She  knew  something  of 
books,  as  her  failure  and  consequent  humilia 
tion  had  often  driven  her  to  them,  and  she 
might  go  in  as  an  assistant  librarian.  Yes, 
she  might  have  done  that,  but  a  wheelbarrow 
could  have  held  all  the  books  in  Click  City. 
But  an  idea  leaped  like  an  athlete  into  my 
mind.  I  told  her  that  we  had  no  library,  but 
ought  to  have  one,  that  our  people  would 
without  doubt  feel  thankful  to  her  for  the 
suggestion,  and  that  if  she  could  wait  until 
a  mule  train  could  bring  the  books  we  would 
start  up  a  shop  of  letters.  I  was  in  earnest, 
but  she  was  amused  and  again  I  heard  the 
music  of  the  riotous  zither.  She  studied  a 
while  and  then  she  said  that  she  might  take 
up  a  school,  and  this  set  me  on  my  feet  in  a 
moment.  I  said  something  absurd,  of  course 
— that  she  had  come  to  inspire  us  with  a 
knowledge  of  our  necessities,  and  I  declared 
that  I  would  rush  forth  at  once  and  get  the 
school  ready.  So,  hastening  to  my  office,  I 
drew  up  a  paper  and  began  to  circulate  it  for 
signers.  There  had  already  been  several 


An  American  in  New  York 

schools  started,  but  soon  we  had  another,  and 
by  the  next  morning  at  opening  time  Miss 
Barksdale  was  ready  and  so  were  we.  The 
school  house  was  a  livery  stable  and  an  un 
dertaker's  shop  combined,  the  lower  part 
given  over  to  baled  hay  and  coffins,  but  the 
upper  floor  served  our  purpose  well,  and 
here  came  every  day  except  Saturdays  and 
Sundays,  this  divine  creature,  who  in  a  mimic 
profession  had  been  as  she  thought  a  failure. 
She  was  too  good  and  pure  for  earth,  and  of 
course  the  stage  was  not  her  home.  She 
couldn't  afford  to  live  at  the  hotel,  but  in  the 
private  family  of  a  pardoned  and  prosperous 
stage  robber  she  found  a  pleasant  home,  and 
it  was  here  that  I  called  on  her  night  after 
night,  with  my  heart  dancing,  but  I  talked 
of  practical  things,  because  she  seemed,  with 
all  of  her  romantic  look,  a  sane  and  practical 
little  body.  My  business  partner  was  Sim 
Groggin.  He  made  himself  prominent  by 
shooting  a  robber  named  Dix — Miss  Barks- 
dale's  landlord,  by  the  way — had  tended  him 
through  long  disability  and  had  obtained  a 
pardon  for  him.  Groggin  was  about  as  game 
a  man  as  I  had  ever  seen,  and  as  bravery  was 
the  gauge  of  all  admiration  out  there  in  those 
188 


An  American  in  New  York 

days,  I  gave  him  my  friendship  as  well  as  my 
business  confidence.  He  had  been  expelled 
from  Yale  on  account  of  some  triviality, 
knocking  a  professor  on  the  head,  or  some 
thing  like  that,  and  this  added  to  his  standing. 
With  all  of  his  other  arts  and  accomplish 
ments  he  was  a  sort  of  Jim  the  Penman. 
There  was  a  bank  in  Click  City  and  with 
forgery  he  could  have  robbed  it,  but  he  kept 
the  most  of  his  natural  impulses  well  in  hand 
and  used  his  cleverness  sparingly.  You  have 
never  heard  of  him,  have  you?" 

"No,  dad.  But  does  he  hold  much  of  a 
place  in  your  story?" 

UA  vital  place.  He  wasn't  so  handsome, 
but  he  was  rather  taking,  with  a  sort  of  dashy 
air,  and  it  gave  me  some  little  uneasiness 
when  I  could  not  help  but  observe  his  atten 
tions  to  Miss  Barksdale.  One  night  as  we 
were  sitting  by  the  stove,  beneath  a  smoky 
lamp  that  threw  black  shadows  here  and 
there,  I  asked  him  how  far  he  was  in  earnest 
with  regard  to  her,  and  he  laughed  and  said, 
'Your  preserves,  Bill.  I  like  her  and  that  is 
all.'  I  thought  it  best,  however,  to  hurry  up 
matters,  so  one  night  while  I  sat  alone  with 
Miss  Barksdale,  I  began  to  edge  up  toward 
189 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  final  point.  Gab  comes  to  some  men  early 
and  to  others  late.  It  had  not  come  to  me — 
wasn't  in  bloom,  so  I  had  to  struggle  with 
myself.  The  fact  was  that  in  her  presence 
I  didn't  know  what  to  talk  about  except  my 
own  insane  love  and  I  didn't  know  how  to 
lead  up  to  an  expression  of  it.  I  had  written 
several  notes  to  her,  but  my  pen  stammered. 
She  didn't  try  to  make  me  think  she  was 
timid.  She  always  met  my  frightened  eye 
with  a  quiet  frankness,  and  this  always  fright 
ened  my  eye  still  more.  I  remember  that  it 
was  drawing  toward  midnight,  and  still  I  had 
made  no  advance.  I  had  been  summoned  to 
set  out  early  the  next  morning  to  go  on  im 
portant  business  to  Denver,  and  I  shuddered 
to  think  of  leaving  my  heart's  affairs  in  an 
unsettled  state.  But  soon  came  the  time  for 
me  to  take  up  my  hat.  Ah,  how  well  I  can 
recall  that  scene  and  the  talk  that  followed. 
'Must  you  be  going?'  she  asked,  and  I  stood 
first  on  one  foot  and  then  the  other  and  told 
her  that  I  was  compelled  to  go.  Then  fol 
lowed  silence.  I  turned  my  hat  round  and 
round.  'Be  gone  long?'  'About  a  week — 
maybe  two/  I  answered.  Another  silence. 
My  hat  fell  upon  the  floor.  We  both  stooped 
190 


An  American  in  New  York 

at  the  same  time  to  pick  it  up  and  bumped  our 
heads  together.  This  made  us  both  laugh 
and  she  looked  as  if  her  mouth  were  full  of 
diamonds.  Again  I  fumbled  with  my  hat, 
but  the  laughter  had  made  me  bolder.  I  took 
hold  of  her  hand,  and  how  frail  a  little  thing 
it  was,  the  veins  showing  blue.  I  kissed  it— 
and  it  fluttered,  a  bird,  and  it  flew  away.  But 
I  caught  it  again,  drew  her  to  me — kissed  her, 
and  then  in  a  dam-broken  torrent  I  told  her 
of  my  love.  I  didn't  ask  her  to  marry  me — 
but  she  must  have  known — all  I  wanted  then 
was  to  tell  her  of  my  love  and  to  hear  her 
whisper,  with  her  head  against  my  breast, 
that  she  loved  me.  I  went  home  happy.  Be 
neath  the  shadow-throwing  lamp  Sim  Groggin 
sat,  reading  some  sort  of  up  the  gulch  book; 
and  in  my  bubbling  happiness  I  told  him  all 
that  had  passed.  Well,  at  daylight  the  next 
morning  I  took  the  stage.  And,  two  days 
after  reaching  Denver  I  received  a  letter 
from  her.  Letter?  It  was  only  a  line.  'I 
don't  want  to  see  you  again,  you  brute.' 
What  did  it  mean?  That  wolf  had  written 
to  her  in  my  name — had  said  that  I  was  play 
ing  with  her.  This  all  came  out  afterward, 
you  see.  I'm  making  it  short.  I  didn't  have 
191 


An  American  in  New  York 

sense  enough  to  demand  or  ask  for  an  ex 
planation.  I  thought  that  she  had  been  act 
ing  a  part  and  had  believed  that  I  was  act 
ing — for  a  purpose  far  from  noble.  The 
scoundrel  wrote  to  me — his  letter  came 
quickly  after  hers — telling  me  that  she  was 
gone  away — that  she  had  stolen  jewelry  and 
that  he  was  going  forth  to  fetch  her  back.  He 
was  coming  through  Denver,  he  said,  as  it 
was  supposed  she  had  gone  that  way.  I  met 
him — I  was  more  dead  than  alive — and  heard 
his  story.  He  said  that  the  people  of  Click 
City  were  laughing  at  me,  and  I  knew  then 
that  I  was  not  to  go  back  there.  So  Groggin 
and  I  reached  a  settlement  of  our  affairs  and 
I  went  away,  heart-broken.  Five  years  after 
ward,  in  San  Francisco,  I  learned  the  truth. 
The  hell-hound  had  tried  to  marry  her.  She 
had  refused  him,  and  one  year  before  the  time 
of  this  revelation  she  had  married  your 
father.  I  went  back  to  Click  City,  went  with 
no  other  purpose  than  to  kill  Groggin.  But 
he  wasn't  there.  No  one  knew  where  he 
might  be  found.  I  saw — Mary.  I  saw  that 
she  was  dying  of  consumption.  I  heard 
you — crying,  pale  little  thing.  Isn't  that 
enough?" 

192 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Yes,  dad." 

Far  a  long  time  they  were  silent. 

"Dad He  reached  over,  took  the 

Colonel's  hands  and  pressed  them  to  his  face, 
and  when  the  American  took  them  away  they 
were  wet. 

Silent  they  sat,  the  place  quiet,  the  girl 
dozing. 

"What  became  of  him,  dad?" 

"He  went  to  Australia,  I  heard.  I  started 
to  go,  but  in  San  Francisco  I  was  taken  sick 
and  for  seven  months  was  in  a  hospital.  But 
I  had  employed  a  man  to  look  for  him.  He 
returned  without  information.  Since  then 
I  have  looked  for  him,  every  time  I  heard 
that  he  had  been  seen;  and  not  long  ago  I 
learned  that  he  was  here.  That  is  the  reason 
I  came." 

"If  you  find  him,  dad,  let  me — kill  him." 

"No.  You  couldn't  do  that  here — very 
well." 

"But  if  you  find  him  what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Yes,  you  do,  dad;  you  always  know." 

"I  haven't  decided  beyond  the  fact  that  I 
want  to  feast  my  eyes  upon  him.  Now  you 

193 


An  American  in  New  York 

know  why  I  don't  want  my  real  name  known 
here." 

"Have  you  employed  detectives  ?" 

"Yes — and  they  have  had  track  of  him, 
they  say.  But  I  don't  believe  it.  Still,  I 
haven't  given  up  hope.  More  than  once  I 
have  been  ready  to  take  my  leave  of  this 
town,  but  always  something  has  held  me  back, 
and  for  a  good  purpose,  I  am  inclined  to 
think."  He  mused.  "Yes,  to  feast  my  hungry 
eyes  on  him." 

"And  when  you  find  him,  you  will  not 
weaken?" 

"No.  Forgiveness  is  as  often  the  sign  of 
weakness  as  of  strength.  But  beyond  feast 
ing  my  eyes  upon  his  countenance — I  can't 
see  beyond  that.  But  there  must  be  some 
thing  more  or  I  should  not  be  so  impelled  to 
find  him.  Shall  we  go  now?  Here,  girl." 


194 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

NIGHT  LAMPS  IN  HER  EYES. 

No  appointment  had  been  made,  but  that 
evening  the  Colonel  and  Sammy  met  the 
Widow  and  Imogene  in  the  drawing  room, 
and  as  the  place  was  filled  with  some  sort  of 
society  holding  a  festival,  they  went  for  a 
walk  in  the  air.  The  night  was  cool,  but  not 
disagreeable,  and  they  walked  up  as  far  as 
the  park.  Sammy  thought  that  on  the  part 
of  the  girl  this  feat  of  pedestrianism  was  re 
markable,  but  she  surprised  him  by  saying 
that  when  she  was  in  the  country,  in  Eng 
land,  she  sometimes  made  it  a  point  to  walk 
ten  miles  a  day.  She  had  drawn  him  off  from 
the  Widow  and  they  were  now  walking  alone. 
He  had  not  noticed  the  separation  and  if  he 
had  it  would  have  been  viewed  purely  in  the 
light  of  a  chance  division.  He  listened  en 
tranced  to  her  small  talk,  the  whims  of  her 
brother  Dick,  and  he  was  ready  to  weep  when 
she  told  him  that  a  cat  had  killed  and  eaten 
her  canary  bird.  He  swore  that  all  cats  ought 
to  be  dead.  She  demurred  at  this.  As  a  rule 

195 


An  American  in  New  York 

she  liked  cats,  only  she  didn't  think  that  they 
ought  to  be  so  heartless  as  to  kill  a  poor  little 
bird.  Come  to  think  of  it,  he  had  always 
liked  cats,  too,  but  he  didn't  understand  why 
they  should  eat  birds.  There  were  plenty  of 
mice  in  the  world.  She  said  that  she  was 
afraid  of  mice.  He  didn't  like  them  very 
well.  Once  he  baited  a  hook  with  one  and 
caught  a  black  bass.  She  said  that  it  must 
ha\7e  been  a  cat  fish,  and  he  roared  with 
laughter.  He  said  it  was  the  brightest  thing 
he  ever  heard.  He  wanted  to  tell  the  Col 
onel,  and  then  for  the  first  time  noticed  the 
separation. 

"I  wonder  where  dad  and  your  aunt  went?" 

"Oh,  they'll  take  care  of  themselves.  Are 
you  getting  tired?" 

uOh,  no.  I  could  walk — walk  on  through 
out  eternity."  He  looked  about  him.  "Grim 
old  rocks,  these.  They  look  older  than  the 
rocks  out  in  the  West  Perhaps  it  is  because 
history  has  left  its  visiting  card  lying  upon 
them." 

"Their  history  is  short  in  comparison  with 

the  rocks  of  Europe,"  she  said.     He  agreed 

and  looked  about   for  something    else,    but 

there  was  nothing  save  leafless  trees,   more 

196 


An  American  in  New  York 

rocks  and  a  pond  of  water  ruffling  in  the 
light.  She  said  that  he  must  have  had  many 
an  adventure  in  the  West,  and  he  hemmed 
and  hawed,  trying  to  make  one,  but  romantic 
necessity  was  not  the  mother  of  invention. 
He  wanted  music  and  strove  to  say  something 
to  make  her  laugh.  She  discovered  the  trick 
and  laughed  for  him.  Then  he  laughed. 
They  halted  for  a  moment  where  it  was  light. 
He  looked  at  her,  into  her  eyes,  and  he 
thought  of  something  the  Colonel  had  said — 
feasting  himself  with  a  look,  but  his  feast 
was  of  love.  Deep  in  her  eyes  he  saw  the 
night  lamps  gleaming — fathoms  deep,  they 
seemed.  She  turned  her  face  slightly  and 
the  lamps  went  out,  leaving  a  twilight,  a  mel 
low  dusk.  They  walked  on,  she  with  long 
and  slow  stride,  and  he  wondered  at  her  abil 
ity  to  keep  step  with  him.  It  was  time  for 
one  of  them  to  say,  "it  seems  that  I  have 
known  you  so  long  a  time,"  and  she  said  it. 

"I  was  just  about  to  say  the  same  thing," 
he  replied.  "Strange." 

She  said  that  it  was  strange.     Then  they 

laughed  and  halted  again.     Her  full  mouth 

looked  like  a  half  kiss,  he  thought,  gazing 

down  upon  her  lips  and  they  were  so  near 

197 


An  American  in  New  York 

him  now,  but  they  seemed  to  float  away,  fur 
ther  off.  Her  cloak  was  unbuttoned.  He 
gazed  at  her  neck,  her  throat;  and  then  in 
her  eyes  he  saw  the  lamps  gleaming  again. 
She  looked  up  and  a  lamp  was  supplanted  by 
a  star.  They  walked  on,  going  they  knew  not 
whither.  Remembering  what  the  Colonel 
had  said,  that  she  must  be  won  by  his  worth 
alone,  he  wondered  aloud  if  there  were  as 
much  of  opportunity  for  a  young  man  to  make 
a  fortune  as  there  had  been  in  the  days  when 
penniless  young  youths  came  to  New  York 
and  compelled  the  financial  world  to  recognize 
them.  She  replied  that  for  ability  and  en 
thusiasm  there  always  was  and  always  would 
be  opportunity.  Opportunity  came  from 
within.  Then  she  spoke  of  the  Colonel.  If 
he  had  come  to  New  York  years  ago  he 
might  have  been  a  great  man.  "Auntie  says 
he  is  one  of  the  most  charming  men  she  ever 
saw;  and  the  beauty  or,  rather  I  should  say, 
the  nobility  of  it  all  is  that  he  doesn't  im 
agine  a  woman  in  love  with  him  if  she  hap 
pens  to  utter  a  sentiment.  Men  are  so  vain. 
It  is  getting  so  that  a  woman  is  almost  afraid 
to  be  civil  to  the  most  of  them." 

He    felt    himself    swallowing    something. 
198 


An  American  in  New  York 

Was  this  a  hint  that  he  was  accepting  too 
much  for  granted?  Well,  he  would  show  her 
that  he  was  not  vain.  "What  is  his  busi 
ness — the  Colonel's?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  just  at  pEssent  isn't  in    any    busi 


ness." 


"I  thought  he  must  be  a  lawyer.  I  hope 
he  is  well  enough  off  not  to  be  worried." 

He  swallowed  again.  "Well,  he's  not  in 
financial  distress." 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  I  should  hate  to  see 
him  distressed.  Shall  we  turn  down  this 
way?" 

"Just  as  you  like." 

"Do  you  know  why  I  asked?" 

"Oh,  out  of  a  sort  of  interest,  I  suppose." 

"No,  auntie  wanted  me  to  find  out." 

"You  don't  say.  Doesn't  she  know  he's 
married?" 

"Of  course,  but  that  makes  no  difference. 
She  didn't  know  but  that  at  one  time  he  was 
about  to  cut  his  stay  short  because  of  money — 
and  if  that  is  true,  why  she  said  that  she  would 
like  to  lend  him  enough  to  see  him  through. 
That's  her  all  over  when  she  likes  any  one." 

"God  bless  her  soul,"  he  said,  swallowing 
no  lumps  now. 

199 


An  American  in  New  York 

Onward  they  walked,  slowly,  and  the  low- 
lying  wind,  rising  from  the  ground,  blew  her 
skirts  about  his  ankles,  tangling  his  walk, 
and  it  thrilled  him  thus  to  be  clogged  with  a 
part  of  her.  Rounding  a  hillock  out  of  the 
wind  they  halted  again  and  sat  down  on  a 
bench  and  she  buttoned  her  cloak  and  now  he 
could  not  see  her  throat  gleaming  in  the  light 
of  the  night  eyes  of  the  park,  but  in  his  mind 
he  saw  it,  rounded  satin.  She  said  that  her 
aunt  and  the  Colonel  must  have  gone  home. 

"They  know  the  way  and  aren't  likely  to 
get  lost,"  he  replied,  and  then  asked  her  if 
she  were  cold,  making  a  timid  motion  as  if 
he  would  take  the  temperature  of  her  hand, 
and  though  she  was  motionless  at  the  time, 
yet  he  fancied  a  gesture  of  fright  on  her  part 
and  his  own  hand  fell  hot  and  limp,  curled 
like  a  scorched  leaf.  She  was  not  cold,  she 
said. 

"But  you  are  shivering." 

"The  wind  wailing  among  the  bushes 
makes  me  think  and  I  shiver  when  I  think. 
After  all  it  is  thought  that  is  the  tragedy  of 
life."  In  no  book  had  he  ever  found  so  great 
a  saying  and  he  pondered  over  it.  It  was  not 
possible  that  she  could  ever  learn  to  love  him, 
200 


An  American  in  New  York 

with  such  thoughts  in  her  head.  He  won 
dered  what  she  would  say  next  and  he  waited. 
She  began  to  speak  and  along  his  nerves  he 
felt  her  words  tingling  even  before  he  heard 
them.  "Sometimes  there  comes  one  into  our 
lives  who  permits  us  to  utter  the  truths  lying 
idle  within  us  and  for  this  we  ought  to  be 
thankful." 

"Yes,"  he  repeated  several  times,  remem 
bering  that  the  Colonel  had  said  something 
like  this,  striving  to  think  of  something  to  fit. 
He  thought  of  "truth  is  mighty  and  will  pre 
vail,"  but  that  wouldn't  do,  and  besides  it 
was  not  his  own.  What  was  his  own  ?  Was 
anything  his  own?  "Truth  is  so  much  bigger 
than  fact,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "fact  is  a  photograph, 
while  truth  is  a  painting,"  and  within  him  he 
felt  his  hope  of  ever  winning  her  gasp  out  its 
life.  He  must  cap  that  or  be  utterly  lost. 
"Yes,  fact  is  a  truth  stripped  of  all  grace." 

"And  then  we  have  the  naked  truth,"  she 
laughed,  and  in  a  dumb  chill  he  listened  to 
her  music.  "I  wonder  what  time  it  is  getting 
to  be,"  she  said,  when  her  music  had  ceased. 
He  took  out  his  watch,  held  it  to  catch  the 
light,  saw  the  hour  leap  forward  and  told  her 
201 


An  American  in  New  York 

that  it  was  nearly  eleven.  Gracious  alive,  she 
had  no  idea  that  it  was  nearly  so  late.  "You 
are  a  killer  and  an  embalmer  of  minutes  and 
a  builder  of  monuments  to  hours,"  he  said, 
and  felt  that  at  last  he  had  uttered  something, 
and  she  must  have  thought  so,  too,  for  she 
muttered,  "beautiful." 


2O2 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A  PROJECT  FORMING. 

The  Colonel  and  the  Widow  soon  tiring  of 
the  cold  wind  in  the  park  returned  to  the 
hotel,  and  in  the  Turkish  room  they  sat  wait 
ing  for  Sammy  and  Imogene.  The  Ameri 
can  had  been  talking  of  the  age  of  youth,  de 
claring  that  we  are  still  young  as  long  as  we 
have  something  in  which  we  take  enthusiastic 
interest.  "I  don't  mean  in  the  way  of  money- 
getting,"  he  said,  "for  we  have  authority  and 
experience  to  tell  us  that  avarice  increases 
with  age.  "It  is  rare,  madam,  that  one  meets 
a  generous  old  man.  It  doesn't  argue  gener 
osity  when  decrepitude  appropriates  a  great 
fund  for  charity,  nor  is  it  mere  kindliness 
when  near  the  close  of  a  grinding  life  a  man 
builds  libraries.  Man,  scrapping  for  some 
sort  of  immortality,  builds  a  monument  in  the 
name  of  charity,  hoping  that  his  own  name 
may  live  beneath  it.  If  I  should  tell  you  of 
something  that  I  have  for  a  long  time  had  in 
mind  you  would  laugh  at  me." 

He  expected  her  to  say  that  she  would  not, 
203 


An  American  in  New  York 

but  she  replied  that  perhaps  she  should.  In 
a  puzzled  frown  he  looked  at  her.  "Don't 
you  know  that  there's  nothing  more  sacred 
than  a  hobby?  And  would  you  make  sport 
of  a  hobby?" 

"I  didn't  say  that  I  should  laugh.  I  said 
perhaps." 

"Ah,  but  when  perhaps  a  woman  would 
laugh  she  will.  However,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  any  way.  You've  seen  a  play  called  Jim 
the  Penman,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"Well,  into  my  life  there  came  a  sort  of 
Jim  the  Penman  play,  long  before  I  had  ever 
seen  the  acted  drama,  and  perhaps  before  it 
was  written.  In  it  is  embodied  a  good  deal 
of  Western  life,  and  at  odd  times  I  have  writ 
ten  it  out  in  the  form  of  a  drama.  As  it 
now  stands  it  couldn't  be  played  on  a  ten-acre 
lot,  but  I  was  thinking  of  getting  some  one 
to  help  me  with  it — make  it  walk  and  talk, 
you  understand.  I  wouldn't  bother  with  a 
manager;  I  would  rent  a  theater  for  a  certain 
length  of  time." 

She  was  too  much  surprised  to  laugh  at  his 
whim — not  surprised  that  he  had  a  play,  but 
that  he  thought  of  renting  a  theater  in  New 
204 


An  American  in  New  York 

York.  "Why,  Colonel,  that  would  involve  a 
perfect  storm — a  regular  blizzard  of  ex 
pense." 

"Perhaps  so,  but  I  can  see  about  it.  I  met 
an  actor  to-day,  man  named  Skidder — ever 
hear  of  him?"  She  shook  her  head.  "Well, 
I  believe  he  could  make  my  play  go.  And  be 
sides,  he  is  out  of  a  job." 

Now  she  laughed.  "Ah,"  she  said,  "no 
Rockefeller  could  afford  to  put  on  a  play  for 
every  actor  that  is  out  of  a  job." 

"Hum — don't  suppose  any  Rockefeller 
would  ever  care  how  many  players  were  out 
of  jobs.  But  this  fellow  Skidder  appeals  to 
me.  I  never  saw  him  before,  but  in  a  way 
he  comes  out  of  my  past.  I'll  drop  him  a 
note  and  tell  him  to  come  around  to  see  me." 

"But,  Colonel,  can  you  afford  it?"  In  the 
tones  of  her  voice  and  in  the  look  that  she 
gave  him  there  was  real  interest.  About 
every  good  woman  there  was  something  just 
a  little  old-timey,  he  thought,  and  as  now  he 
studied  her  he  saw  with  his  memory-eye  many 
a  graceful  and  gracious  woman  of  the  past, 
some  of  them  with  their  needles  and  some 
singing  sweetly  like  birds  because  their  hearts 
were  light.  All  of  the  world  shrewdness 
205 


An  American  in  New  York 

seemed  to  have  melted  from  the  Widow's  eyes, 
leaving  them  aglow  with  a  soft  and  kindly 
luster;  and  he  mused  to  himself  that  her 
mother-love  could  make  any  son  great.  7"nen 
he  fell  to  wondering  whether  within  her  the 
maternal  instinct  were  strong  or  whether  con 
vention  had  killed  it. 

"Madam,  if  man  had  done  only  the  things 
that  he  could  afford  to  do,  we  should  still  be 
trudging  through  the  mire  of  the  dark  ages." 

"I  can't  agree  to  that.  It  was  doing  the 
things  he  could  not  afford  that  has  made  the 
world  miserable,  that  has  filled  it  with  mental 
and  physical  disease." 

"Madam,  you  have  now  raised  an  issue 
upon  wrhich  we  will  not  argue.  I  uttered  but 
a  half  truth  and  you  have  made  it  wholly 
false." 

"Ah,  Colonel,  your  gallantry  would  make 
any  opposition  to  you  false  as  dicers'  oaths." 

"Good,  madam;  good,  though  I  don't  de 
serve  it.  But  going  back,  I'd  like  to  put  that 
play  on.  I  just  want  to  see  it,  and  if  it 
pleases  me  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference 
whether  it's  a  success  or  not.  I  wouldn't  re 
gard  it  as  an  investment,  but  as  a  game  the 
mere  playing  of  which  is  worth  the  money." 
206 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Ah,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  through 
shrewd,  half-open  eyes,  "and  you  would  send 
for  your  wife  to  be  present  at  the  first  pres 
entation,  wouldn't  you?" 

uUr — madam,  my  wife  is  exceedingly  re 
ligious  and  under  no  consideration  would  she 
go  into  a  show  house.  She  bears  the  distinc 
tion  of  never  having  wept  over  East  Lynne." 

She  laughed.  "Let  us  hope  that  you'll  not 
be  forced  to  weep  and  to  pull  out  your  hair 
over  your  own." 

"If  I  am  forced  to  pull  out  enough  hair  to 
make  a  rope  to  hang  myself  I  still  shall  have 
accomplished  something." 

"Yes,  you  will  have  made  a  rope." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 
After  a  time  she  wondered  what  had  become 
of  Imogene  and  Sammy,  and  the  Colonel 
said,  "Oh,  never  mind  them;  they'll  come 
along  after  a  while  and  in  good  season,  ring 
ing  their  golden  bells.  Yes,  in  good  time. 
Now  wouldn't  it  be  a  joke  if  I,  a  staid  citizen 
of  the  quiet  wilds,  should  create  a  sensation 
with  a  play?  Man  nearly  always  believes 
that  it  is  safe  to  defer  intellectual  employ 
ment.  Those  who  believe  that  it  is  danger 
ous  to  defer  attempts  at  physical  achieve- 
207 


An  American  in  New  York 

ment,  flatter  themselves  with  the  close-hugged 
notion  that  the  mind  grows  stronger  with  ad 
vancing  years.  This,  perhaps,  is  the  reason, 
madam,  that  I  have  put  off  the  production — 
this  together  with  the  fact  that  the  men  to 
whom  I've  shown  it  thought  that  it  might  be 
well  set  for  some  indefinite  time  in  the  fu 
ture." 

She  asked  if  he  had  read  it  to  many  man 
agers.  "I  think  I  read  up  one  copy  of  it," 
he  said.  "And  then  I  threw  the  new  copy 
into  my  trunk.  That  is  what  a  man  says  after 
he  has  carefully  laid  a  thing  away,  you 
know.  No,  I  don't  demand  that  you  should 
ask  to  read  it.  That  would  seem  the  proper 
move,  but  proper  moves  are  sometimes  tire 
some  and  inconvenient." 

"But,  Colonel,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  say 
ing  this,  but  if  you  find  that  you  haven't 
enough  ready  money  to  meet  your  purposes, 
you " 

"Madam,  I  thank  you,  but  I  can  manage  to 
raise  enough." 

"That  is  fortunate,  but  in  the  event  that 
you  can't,  won't  you  let  me  join  with  you?" 

"Ah,  backwoods,"  he  said,  "you  don't  hold 
all  the  hearts.  Madam,  you  are  so  noble  as 
208 


An  American  in  New  York 

to  make  yourself  short-sighted.  Unless  you 
have  money  to  throw  at  a  bird— 

"But  have  you  that  much,  Colonel?" 

"A  man  may  have  little  and  yet  feel  that 
he  has  enough  to  throw  at  his  own  bird.  I 
could  not  permit  you  to  cast  a  penny  at  a 
strange  lark." 

She  smiled,  and  in  the  light  of  her  counte 
nance  he  caught  a  sweetly  sad  reminder  of  the 
actress  girl  who  had  died  long  ago;  and  now 
he  remembered  that  from  the  first  he  had 
noted  a  resemblance  between  them,  and  he 
wondered  why  he  had  not  acknowledged  it  to 
himself.  A  stronger  love  may  be  built  upon 
the  foundation  of  a  love  that  was  lost.  Dis 
tress  has  created  many  an  ideal.  Had  he 
created  one  ?  he  asked  himself. 

"Don't  you  believe  that  a  man  and  a 
woman  can  be  friends?"  she  inquired,  as  if  it 
were  a  serious  matter  on  which  she  desired 
exact  information,  and  with  a  sudden  lower 
ing  of  sentimental  vitality  he  answered  that 
he  had  no  doubt  of  it.  Then  he  thought: 
"What  a  fool  I  am.  She  thinks  I'm  married. 
How  could  she  look  toward  being  other  than 
a  friend?  Shall  I  tell  her  that  I  was  joking 
when  I  spoke  of  my  wife?  No,  it  would 
209 


An  American  in  New  York 

freeze  the  current  of  her  freedom.  Let  me 
make  of  her  if  I  can  so  dear  a  friend  that  it 
might  be  unconscious  love.  She  has  called 
me  quaint,  but  quaintness  cannot  pass  beyond 
a  certain  interest.  We  don't  fall  in  love  with 
the  quaint,  the  funny,  but  with  the  sublime 
and  the  tragic.  Let  me  hold  her  as  a  friend." 
Now  she  looked  more  like  Mary  Barksdale — 
Mary,  maturer  and  stronger,  a  delicate  vital 
ity  rounded  with  grace.  "Madam,  there  is 
a  place  not  far  from  here  that  I  should  like 
to  visit  with  you." 

"I'm  sure  it  would  give  me  pleasure,  Col 
onel.  What  place  is  it?" 

"The  grave  of  Benjamin  Franklin." 
"He  wasn't  buried  in  New  York,  was  he?" 
"Madam,  the  past  has  contained    several 
great  men  who  were  not  buried  in  New  York, 
except  for  a  time  socially." 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  thank  me  for  that  op 
portunity.  Of  course,  I  know  American  his 
tory  in  a  vague  way — and  that  is  the  only  sort 
of  history  that  has  ever  been  written  of  this 
country — but  I  confess  that  I  don't  know 
where  every  great  man  is  buried,  and  I  sup 
pose  that  all  of  the  really  great  ones  have 
been  buried." 

210 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Either  that,  madam,  or  they  were 
drowned  and  their  bodies  not  recovered. 
Franklin  is  buried  in  Philadelphia." 

"Sleeps  there,"  she  smiled. 

"Ah,  and  you  ought  to  thank  me  for  that 
opportunity.  Will  you  go  over  there  with 
me,  sometime?" 

"Yes,  any  time." 

"To-morrow  morning?" 

"Yes,  if  not  too  early.  Graves  will  keep, 
you  know." 

"Ha,  his  ought  to  be  well  kept.  He  was 
perhaps  the  only  world  man  we  have  ever 
produced.  Will  eleven  o'clock  be  too  early 
for  you  ?" 

"No.     Then  I'll  meet  you  here    at    that 


time." 


"If  it  should  be  good  weather?" 

"Oh,  the  weather  makes  no  difference. 
Here  they  come." 

Sammy  and  Imogene  entered  the  room. 
Saying  the  expected  thing,  the  girl  remarked 
that  they  had  enjoyed  a  delightful  stroll  and 
had  no  idea  that  it  was  so  late.  "Auntie, 
have  you  been  back  long?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  and  both  Sammy 
and  the  Colonel  looked  distressed.  Soon 

211 


An  American  in  New  York 

they  bade  the  women  good  night,  and  the 
Colonel  went  to  Sammy's  room,  and  when 
the  door  had  been  shut  he  looked  at  the  boy 
and  said,  "Well?" 

"I  don't  know,  dad.  Sometimes  she  seems 
to  warm  toward  me,  but  my  happiness  is  cut 
short  by  the  fear  that  she's  playing  me.  Do 
you  think  she  is?" 

"Don't  know,"  answered  the  American, 
shaking  his  head.  UA  woman  may  be  sim 
ple  and  practical,  but  i'gad,  she's  always  a 
mystery,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned.  And  I 
want  to  say  right  here  that  the  Widow  is 
throwing  her  golden  hooks  into  me.  Well, 
I'll  go  to  my  room  and  write  to  that  fellow 
Skidder.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some  other 
time.  Sleep  well.  Good  night." 


212 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

AT   BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN'S   TOMB. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  Colonel  heard 
the  rain  beating  at  his  window,  and  he 
feared  that  all  present  idea  of  his  pilgrimage 
with  the  Widow  to  the  grave  of  Franklin  was 
drowned.  But  when  he  met  her  at  eleven 
o'clock  she  was  arrayed  in  a  waterproof, 
and  declared  her  readiness  to  go  at  once 
though  the  rain  had  in  no  wise  abated.  She 
called  him  dear,  by  mistake,  or  in  unconscious 
imitation  of  the  shopgirl  who  makes  current 
slang  of  ancient  terms  of  endearment;  and 
he  looked  sharp  at  her,  expecting  a  pretty  con 
fusion,  a  blushed  apology,  but  she  simply 
smiled,  which  led  him  to  believe  that  she  had 
not  been  conscious  of  her  thrilling  slip  of  the 
tongue.  After  a  weak  show  of  arguing  on 
the  part  of  the  Widow,  Imogene  had  declined 
to  go,  and  Sammy  therefore  "went  lame"  in 
a  moment,  as  our  wayward  brother  of  the 
race  track  would  say.  This  pleased  the  Col 
onel,  as  he  had  intended  the  company  to  be 
213 


An  American  in  New  York 

narrowly  limited.  They  took  a  cab  for  the 
Twenty-third  street  ferry,  and  with  the  rain 
lashes  whipping  at  the  windows,  they  sat  for 
a  time  in  silence. 

"Delicious."  This  was  what  she  said,  and 
he  replied: 

"If  you  hadn't  said  it  I  should  have 
thought  there  was  a  better  word." 

She  smiled  at  him.     "Well,  isn't  there?" 

"Your  utterance  of  it  has  made  a  better 
one  impossible,"  he  declared,  with  a  South 
erner's  oratorical  emphasis.  At  times  it  may 
be  important  to  know  whether  or  not  one 
has  sighed,  and  at  this  moment  he  wondered 
if  she  hadn't,  but  there  was  no  way  of  finding 
out.  He  couldn't  very  well  ask  her;  it  would 
sound  odd  to  his  own  ears  to  blurt  forth  from 
silence  with,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am, 
but  did  you  sigh?" 

Out  on  the  water  they  looked  back  at  the 
towers,  dragons  of  trade,  ghastly  in  the  mist. 
She  spoke  of  the  great,  unhealthful  turmoil 
they  were  leaving. 

"And  yet  you  love  it  and  would  shudder  at 
the  thought  of  leaving  it  permanently,"  said 
the  American,  deftly  touching  into  better  ar 
rangement  the  waterproof  about  her  shoul- 
214 


An  American  in  New  York 

ders,  for  they  were  standing  where  the  rain 
splashed. 

"Yes,  I  should  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
leaving  any  place — permanently." 

"Even  the  West,  which  you  have  not  seen? 
Surely  you  wouldn't  shudder  to  leave  the 
West,  having  never  seen  it." 

She  laughed.  "I  don't  think  your  little 
sarcasms  are  so  timely  now — when  directed 
at  me.  I  mean  with  regard  to  the  West." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  you  have  made  the  West  a  land 
to  be  sighed  for." 

"I  hope  you  don't  say  that  in  earnest." 

"But  I  do  say  it  in  earnest.  Why  did  you 
hope  I  didn't?  Tell  me." 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  be  right  to  make  a  human 
being  so  proud  as  it  would  make  me." 

She  looked  at  him  and  a  memory-scent 
came  floating  back  to  him,  a  geranium.  How 
much  it  had  cost  him,  that  geranium !  From 
a  hothouse  in  Denver  he  had  brought  it,  for 
Mary  Barksdale,  because  it  was  a  flower  loved 
by  her.  The  stage  coach  encountered  a  great 
drift  of  snow,  but  he  wrapped  his  coat  about 
the  flowerpot  to  keep  life  in  the  leaf;  he  blew 
his  warm  breath  upon  it  to  drive  away  the 
215 


An  American  in  New  York 

frost.  He  kept  it  alive,  and  when  he  gave  it 
to  the  girl  she  smiled,  just  as  this  woman  was 
smiling  now — and  the  scent  of  the  flower 
arose  and  he  felt  its  perfume  tingling  in  his 
senses. 

"You  will  never  leave  off  joking  me,"  she 
said. 

"Madam,  I " 

"Don't  call  me  madam." 

"Ah,  what  shall  I  call  you?" 

"I  wish  you  would  call  me  Margaret." 

"Then  you'd  have  to  call  me  Jim." 

"Oh,  my  gracious,  that  wouldn't  do.  I 
should  feel  that  I  had  committed  a  crime. 
But  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  what  I  think  you 
are — without  appearing  rude  or  familiar. 
Wish  I  could." 

"But  can't  you?" 

"No,  you  might  not  understand." 

"If  I  am  so  short  on  understanding  I 
oughtn't  to  be  called  anything  but  fool.  Tell 
me — or  I'll  step  off  into  the  river." 

"I'll  step  with  you." 

"Ah,  a  tragic  two-step.  But  what  is  it  you 
would  like  to  call  me  ?  Out  with  it." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  so  very  bad." 

"I  hope  not.    But  what  is  it?" 
216 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Something  I  always  think  of  you  as  be- 
ing." 

uThey  have  a  word  out  West — may  have 
come  from  down  here.  Word  chump.  Is 
that  it?" 

"You  know  better  than  that.  I'm  half  in 
clined  now  not  to  tell  you  at  all." 

"Had  you  intended  to  tell  me?" 

"Not  when  I  first  spoke,  but  was  after 
ward  almost  persuaded.  Aren't  we  foolish?" 

"I  can  answer  for  myself.  I  have  been 
foolish  ever  since  I  first  saw  you." 

"Now,  Colonel,  don't  talk  that  way.  Re 
member  you  are  married." 

"Yes,  I  had  forgotten." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"What,  to  forget  my  troubles — I  mean  my 
happiness?  When  a  man  forgets  his  own 
happiness  it  shows  that  he's  not  selfish." 

For  a  time  she  was  silent  and  then  she 
said:  "You  know  if  I  thought  that  I  were 
wronging  any — woman  it  would  make  me 
miserable." 

"Ah,  but  when  has  woman  become  so  lit 
tle  of  a  woman  as  not  to  wrong  woman?" 

"That's  unworthy  of  you,  Colonel." 

"Then  I  take  it  back  and  swallow  it  like  a 
217. 


An  American  in  New  York 

swamp  man  taking  a  dose  of  medicine,  and 
nowhere  on  this  earth  is  there  anything  as  bit 
ter  as  chill  medicine.  I  knew  an  old  fellow 
down  in  the  cypress  that " 

"We  are  nearly  ready  to  land.  And  you 
haven't  given  me  a  chance  to  tell  you." 

"You  wouldn't  tell  me.  But  weVe  got 
time  enough." 

"Now  that  I've  come  to  think  more  about 
it,  why  it  wouldn't  sound  very  well.  But 
when  meant  as  I  mean  it — nothing  then  could 
be  bad  about  it.  And  there  are  so  few  men 
exactly  what  you  are.  Wait,  I'll  tell  you. 
Lovable.  That's  the  word.  Lovable.  Is 
that  so  bad?" 

"Oh,  no — it's — I  might  say  it's  all  right. 
I  mean,  I  thank  you  if  you  have  brought 
yourself  down  to  that  grade.  You  don't 
know  me.  I'm  as  mean  as — well,  ask 
Sammy."  The  passengers  were  hastening 
off.  "Margaret,"  he  said,  and  in  silence  they 
went  ashore. 

They  had  not  more  than  time  to  get  the 
tickets  and  catch  the  train.  For  a  long  while 
they  were  silent.  There  was  nothing  to  look 
ajt  save  the  rain,  blurred  houses  in  mist;  but 
neither  of  them  lamented  the  lack  of  the  sun. 
218 


An  American  in  New  York 

Into  the  lathe  of  his  mind  the  Colonel  had 
put  a  thought  and  was  turning  it  round  and 
round,  sometimes  rapidly  and  then  with  slow 
ness,  the  thought  of  whether  or  not  he  should 
tell  her  that  in  his  case  there  was  no  woman 
to  wrong.  But  the  lathe  broke  and  the 
thought  flew  off  into  the  space  of  indecision. 
After  all  it  was  better  not  to  tell  her.  As  it 
was  they  were  making  sufficient  progress.  If 
she  were  in  love  with  him  her  fear  of  wrong 
ing  his  supposed  wife  would  be  proof  enough. 
And  what  a  thrill  to  think  that  he  had  torn 
her  love  from  her.  We  respect  morality;  we 
teach  it,  we  enforce  it  upon  those  who  are 
dependent  upon  us,  but  man  would  like  to 
know  that  a  woman  loves  him  regardless  of 
all  law.  Especially  does  this  seem  to  be  true 
when  he  has  passed  out  of  youth  into  experi 
ence.  Less  capable  of  loving  then,  he  would 
compel  more  love  from  others.  More  hon 
orable,  perhaps,  toward  man,  he  is  less  so  to 
ward  woman.  Thus  the  American  mused, 
but  he  denied  his  self-assertion  that  he  was 
not  as  capable  of  giving  love  now  as  on 
that  night  when  he  held  Mary  Barksdale  in 
his  arms. 

"Are  you  tired?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her 
219 


An  American  in  New  York 

hair,  her  ears  as  she  sat  next  to  the  window, 
with  her  eyes  turned  toward  the  rain. 

She  looked  around,  into  his  eyes.  "Oh, 
not  at  all.  I  was  wondering " 

"What  were  you  wondering  ?" 

"Oh,  whether  or  not  I  had  said  too  much. 
We  can  always  tell  by  our  conscience,  and 
mine  hurts  me — just  a  little." 

"You  can't  always  put  faith  in  conscience. 
A  thing  so  educated  might  be  taught  to  tell 
an  untruth." 

"I  am  almost  tempted  to  wish  that  I  hadn't 
said  it." 

"I  don't  blame  you,  for  in  the  first  place 
it  wasn't  deserved;  it  wasn't  appropriate." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,  but  on  account  of — some 
one  else." 

"I  hope,  Margaret,  that  you'll  not  let  the 
some  one  else  worry  you.  What  I  give  to  you 
belongs  to  no  one  else.  What  I  give  is  your 
own,  for  you  created  it." 

She  was  looking  away.  He  saw  the  color 
mounting,  saw  her  cheek  glow  red  and  *hen 
turn  pale. 

"I  don't  believe  it's  raining  quite  so  hard," 
she  said.    It  was — raining  harder,  but  he  said 
that  he  didn't  think  so  either,  and  though  she 
220 


An  American  in  New  York 

turned  and  looked  into  his  eyes,  neither  of 
them  saw  absurdity.  They  were  silent.  He 
was  dreaming  when  she  spoke  again.  "You 
must  never  say  again  what  you  said  just 


now.'* 


"What  was  it  I  said?" 

uls  your  memory  so  short?" 

"It  is  longer  than  a  rope  that  would  serve 
to  hang  me." 

"No,  not  so  long  as  a  handkerchief  turned 
caticornered  if  you  can't  remember  what  I 
said  just  now." 

"Ah,  but  it  might  be  as  long  as  an  endless 
chain  and  then  not  recall  anything  you  said 
that  should  not  have  been  said." 

They  seemed  to  think  that  this  was  a  seri 
ous  conversation,  and  it  was  but  natural  that 
a  silence  should  fall.  It  did  fall  and  long  it 
lay. 

"Yes,  I'm  sorry  I  said  it.  And  I  suppose 
you  are  surprised  to  find  me  so  weak  when 
you  had  thought  me  strong.  I  don't  know 
why,  however,  that  you  should  have  thought 
me  strong.  I  don't  know  that  you  did  think 
so.  But  the  strongest  women  have  their  weak 
moods." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "their  charming  moods. 
221 


An  American  in  New  York 

When  a  woman  thinks  she  is  strong,  she's 
quarrelsome.  Her  strength  lies  in  her  de 
termination  to  do  something  she  doesn't  want 
to  do,  whether  it  be  right  or  wrong." 

"When  a  man  is  put  to  for  anything  to  say 
he  philosophizes  about  woman.  He  doesn't 
know  anything  about  her  in  the  first  place." 

"If  we  can  believe  Writ  it  was  in  the  first 
place  that  he  found  out  pretty  much  all  he 
knows  about  her." 

"Oh,  that  old  Eden  story.  Any  religion 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  foist  it.  And  with 
all  of  her  self-sacrifice,  her  age  after  age  of 
devotion,  woman  has  not  been  able  to  live  it 
down.  Sometimes  it  angers  me  when  I  see 
the  steeple  of  a  church,  for  it  is  the  sign  that 
here  is  told  over  and  over  again  the  story  of 
woman's  treachery  to  God.  Suppose  we  take 
a  train  back  without  going  to  the  grave  of  a 
man  who  believed " 

"He  was  a  philosopher  and  not  a  fanatic," 
the  Colonel  broke  in.  "He  was  brave  enough 
to  win  and  marry  the  girl  who  had  once 
laughed  at  him,  when  she  first  saw  him,  a 
gaunt  youth,  going  along  the  street  eating 
bread." 

222 


An  American  in  New  York 

She  laughed.  "Oh,  he  did.  Well,  I  don't 
see  anything  so  very  game  in  that." 

"It  showed  forgiveness  and  that  is  some 
times  brave." 

"His  eating  of  bread  proved  his  vegetari 
anism,  and  that  is  not  so  very  bold.  I  be 
lieve  it  is  raining  harder." 

He  looked  out  and  said  that  he  believed 
so,  too,  though  the  truth  was  that  the  clouds 
were  lighter  and  the  rain  drops  smaller. 
"We'll  soon  be  there,"  she  said.  "And  what 
are  we  going  to  do  when  we  get  there?" 

"See  that  the  grave  is  kept  green  and  come 
back." 

"I  am  tempted  to  say  that  you  are  hate 
ful." 

"And  if  you  did  you'd  not  regret  it — as 
you  did  before." 

"Thought  you  didn't  remember  what  I 
said  before." 

He  smiled  at  her  as  she  turned  from  the 
window.  "You  have  seen  a  rose  jar,  haven't 
you  ?  Well,  everything  you  say  goes  into  the 
rose  jar." 

"Ah,  and  there  to  crumble,"  she  laughed. 

"There  to  perfume,"  he  replied,  bowing. 

They  got  off  in  a  drizzle.  The  Colonel 
223 


An  American  in  New  York 

inquired  of  a  cabman  if  he  knew  of  a  restau 
rant  wherein  Benjamin  Franklin  used  to  prac 
tice  vegetarian  economy.  He  didn't  know  the 
place,  but  if  the  gentleman  would  name  the 
neighborhood  he  might  find  it.  Franklin ! 
The  name  was  familiar  enough.  He  knew 
of  some  Franklins  in  the  second-hand  cloth 
ing  business.  "Well,"  said  the  Colonel; 
"drive  us  to  the  oldest  looking  eating  house 
you  can  find." 

Evidently  he  knew  where  it  was,  for 
straightway  he  drove  to  a  place  that  might 
have  marked  the  laying  of  the  first  brick  in 
the  town.  It  was  called  the  Home  Oyster 
House,  and  in  the  doorway  an  infant  sat,  and 
with  the  handle  of  a  broken  knife  was  draw 
ing  upon  the  floor  a  diagram  of  the  mysteri 
ous  world,  a  map  of  that  eternity  which  lies 
behind  us  all. 

There  was  sand  on  the  floor  and  cobwebs 
hung  from  the  ceiling.  The  oak  tables, 
heavy  as  a  ship's  timber,  were  without  cloths, 
and  so  old  and  so  polished  were  they  that 
they  shone  like  dusky  mirrors.  The  chairs 
looked  as  if  they  might  have  come  out  of  a 
continental  courtroom.  From  some  remote 
depth  came  the  wheezy  notes  of  an  accordeon. 
224 


An  American  in  New  York 

A  tired-looking  woman  took  up  the  child  and 
placed  it  further  back  into  the  room.  Then 
she  presented  herself  to  the  Colonel  and  the 
widow. 

"How  old  is  your  little  girl?"  the  Colonel 
inquired. 

"Boy,"  said  the  woman. 

"Ah?  Well,  the  better  for  him,  perhaps. 
Now  let  me  see  what  we  want." 

There  was  no  bill  of  fare  and  the  woman 
told  him  what  she  had,  mainly  mutton  and 
oysters.  The  Colonel  asked  if  she  knew  how 
long  the  place  had  been  an  oyster  house,  and 
she  answered  that  her  grandfather  had  kept 
it  as  such  and  that  it  had  been  the  same  under 
administrations  running  far  back  behind  his 
time.  Then  the  Colonel  knew  that  Franklin 
must  have  darkened  the  door  with  his  gener 
ous  bulk;  and  thus  flavoring  his  meal,  he  or 
dered  oysters  in  every  style.  "Have  you  en 
joyed  your  trip?"  he  inquired  of  the  Widow 
when  the  woman  had  gone,  and  she  an 
swered:  "It  has  been  delightful."  Then 
after  a  meditative  silence  she  remarked:  "I 
wonder  what  somebody  would  think  if  she 
should  see  us  sitting  here  together?" 

"Guess  she'd  think  we  were  hungry." 
225 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  take  back  what  I  said. 
You  aren't  lovable  any  longer." 

"That's  true,  except  as  it  would  imply  that 
I  had  possessed  that  quality,  at  some  time  or 
other.  The  fact  is,  Margaret — you  see  I'm 
not  going  to  surrender  that  liberty — fact  is, 
that  I'm  as  unlovable  as  a  hedgehog.  I  am 
inclined  to  be  polite,  but  as  a  general  thing 
politeness  is  a  glossy  garment  to  cover  a 
meanness.  Under  certain  conditions  I  might 
have  passed  for  an  average  man,  but  as  it  is 
I  am  small  enough  to  be  revengeful.  There 
is  a  man  in  this  world  that  I  hope  one  day  to 
kill."  - 

"Why,  Colonel,  how  could  you?" 

"That's  what  I'm  thinking  about;  how  can 
I?  I'm  trying  to  find  him." 

"I  hope  you  haven't  an  appointment  to 
meet  him  at  Franklin's  grave." 

"No,  but  just  as  likely  to  meet  him  there 
as  anywhere." 

She  looked  down  and  for  a  time  she  pon 
dered.  "And  is  that  the  reason  you  didn't 
go  home  when  you  were  ready?" 

"It  is  the  reason  I  came,  but  not  the  reason 
I  didn't  go." 

"The  coming  of  your  adopted  son 

226 


"HE'S    WORTH    MORE    THAN    ALL   THE     MONEY    IN     THE    WORLD." 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Even  before  he  came  up  to  where  I  was 
standing  I  had  decided  not  to  go.  I  wanted 
to  see  something  at  least  once  more — your 
eyes." 

"Don't — you  must  not  say  that — I  shall 
not  permit  it." 

"But  I  have  said  it." 

"I  shall  not  permit  you  to  repeat  it.  Re 
member  that,  please.  Oh,  that  little  fellow 
is  about  to  tumble  out." 

She  ran  to  the  door,  gathered  up  the 
youngster,  who  was  in  no  danger  of  falling, 
and  kissed  his  toiled-stained  face.  The  child 
looked  at  her  with  his  wondering  eyes.  The 
woman  came  in.  "Put  him  down,  miss. 
He's  not  clean  enough  for  you  to  handle. 
Oh,  Marcus,  what  a  face  you've  got.  I  just 
can't  keep  him  looking  like  anything ;  he  gets 
into  such  mischief." 

"Let  me  hold  him — if  he'll  stay.  Dirty  as 
he  is,  madam,  he's  worth  more  than  all  the 
money  in  the  world." 

"Yes,  he's  everything  to  me.  His  father 
died  in  November,  and  his  sister — the  only 
girl  I  had,  went  away  with  some  man  and — 
do  let  me  wipe  his  face  just  a  little." 

"I  wish  he  were  mine,"  said  the  widow. 
227 


An  American  in  New  York 

"I  love  dirty  babies.  They  seem  to  have 
more  character  than  clean  ones." 

The  Colonel  came  forward.  "Let  me  look 
at  him/'  said  he.  "I  am  a  judge  of  babies — 
sometimes  I  sit  on  the  supreme  bench  of  the 
baby  show.  And  i'gad,  madam,  this  one 
takes  the  premium.  Here  it  is,"  and  upon 
the  youngster's  palm  he  placed  a  twenty-dol 
lar  gold  piece. 

"Oh,  sir,"  the  woman  cried  out,  "he  can't 
possibly  take  that." 

"If  he  doesn't,  madam,  I'll  leave  your 
house  and  never  darken  your  door  again.  I 
am  appointed  by  the  government  to  seek  out 
deserving  babies,  and  I  have  given  him  the 
premium  provided  for  by  law.  If  our  oysters 
are  ready  I  wish  you'd  bring  them,  as  we  are 
in  something  of  a  hurry." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  will.  Marcus,  thank  the  gov 
ernment  gentleman.  Oh,  but  what  is  your 
name,  sir?" 

"I'm  number  seventeen,  madam." 

"Oh,  Marcus,  shake  hands  with  number 
seventeen.  Come  on,  now,  with  mamma. 
You  are  rich — yes,  you  are  rich.  God  bless 
you,  sir." 


228 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

READ  ALL  THE  TIME. 

The  rain  had  ceased  and  the  day,  femaled 
with  a  tenderness  as  of  grief,  had  wrapped 
about  her  face  a  veil  of  mists.  At  the  grave 
of  an  immortal  one  of  earth,  the  American 
and  the  Widow  stood,  he  bare  of  head,  look 
ing  on  with  reverence,  and  she  looking  with 
wonder  at  him  as  if  she  half  expected  him  to 
break  forth  into  some  sort  of  wild  ceremony. 
"Modern  times,  thy  greatest  clay,1'  he  said. 
He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  expected  her  to 
charge  him  with  exaggeration,  but  she  said 
nothing.  "Other  Americans  have  been 
great,"  he  went  on,  "great  for  their  coun 
try,  but  this  man  was  great  for  the  world  and 
for  all  time.  European  science  laughed  at 
him,  and  he  compelled  it  to  drop  to  its  knees 
and  sue  for  pardon  of  its  ignorance.  Oxford 
tittered  and  then  shouted.  And  after  thread 
ing  life's  busy  ways,  here  he  lies,  but  in  that 
light  over  yonder  his  spirit  twinkles.  His 
mind  was  the  electric  light.  His  was  the 
first  thought  that  flew  about  the  world  in  the 
229 


An  American  in  New  York 

twinkling  of  an  eye.  Buried  here,  but  living 
in  every  hall  of  science.  He  had  but  one 
brother,  the  master  of  the  ideal  world, 
Shakespeare,  while  he  the  younger  was  mas 
ter  of  the  world  material.  The  civilization  of 
the  nineteenth  and  the  twentieth  centuries  was 
his  offspring.  The  glory  of  the  past  was  the 
sword.  The  glory  of  the  future,  the  lamp; 
and  this  man  made  the  lamp  anew.  Once  I 
saw  a  comet  and  I  imagined  that  it  was 
Franklin,  waving  a  scarf  of  flame  at  the 
earth.  And  though  he  was  so  great,  the 
world  is  not  yet  ready  to  give  him  his  due. 
The  soldier  still  flashes  his  sword  and  the 
politician  continues  to  pour  words  sweetened 
with  flattering  wantonness  into  the  ears  of 
man.  But  in  the  mighty  round-up,  a  thousand 
years  shall  be  but  an  unbranded  maverick  in 
the  herd  of  the  ages,  and  then  the  world  shall 
read,  in  letters  blazed  from  the  sky,  the  rec 
ord  of  its  debt  to  the  soul  that  once  inhabited 
this  bit  of  mold." 

He  looked  about  for  his  hat,  found  it  lying 
on  a  wet  stone,  put  it  on  his  head  and  turned 
to  the  Widow  as  if  for  commendation  or 
agreement.  "Ah,  hope  I  don't  presume  when 
I  say  that  you  must  have  heard  what  I  said." 


230 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Yes,  Colonel,  and  it  was  a  good  declama 
tion;  and  I  don't  feel  disposed  to  dispute  a 
man's  claim  to  greatness,  standing  as  I  am 
at  his  own  grave,  but  from  what  I  have  read 
of  Franklin,  I  don't  think  that  he  was  born, 
reared,  worked  and  died  in  such  superlatives 
as  your  enthusiasm  would  have  me  believe. 
Wasn't  Jefferson  a  great  man?" 

"I  grant  you,  madam,  but  he  was  a  close 
reader  of  Rousseau  and  seemed  to  have 
caught  the  expression  if  not  the  spirit  of  lib 
erty  from  him." 

"You  can't  deny  to  Washington " 

"Madam,  I  deny  to  him  nothing,  but  his 
work  could  have  been  done  by  some  one  else." 

She  mused  for  a  moment.  "Lincoln,"  she 
said. 

"The  inspired  man  of  a  dark  hour,"  the 
Colonel  spoke.  "His  greatness  was  restricted 
within  the  shores  of  one  nation.  If  the  outer 
world  acknowledges  him  at  all,  it  is  as  of  a 
man  with  a  great  heart.  To  the  sympathetic 
heart  the  world  sometimes  pays  the  tribute 
of  sympathy.  Any  other  objections  to  offer  ?" 

"No,  I  believe  not,"  she  answered,  with 
a  gesture  of  the  hand,  as  if  dismissing  herself 
231 


An  American  in  New  York 

she  were  ready  to  go.  She  looked  at  him 
with  a  smile.  "Shall  I  beg  your  pardon?'* 

"What  for?" 

"For  taking  issue  with  you." 

"Margaret,  when  you  give  a  man  an  op 
portunity  to  argue  with  a  woman,  you  have 
conferred  a  favor  upon  him." 

"But  I  don't  care  for  your  arguments.  I 
would  rather  walk  with  you  simply  than  to 
ride  with  you  in  your  sky-wagon.  The  best 
I  have  ever  liked  you  was  in  that  little  restau 
rant,  just  now." 

"And  the  best  I  have  ever  liked  you,  Mar 
garet,  was  when  you  took  to  your  mother- 
heart  that  soiled  bit  of  wayward  man's  ex 
periment — that  child.  No  ballroom  queen 
was  ever  so  beautiful." 

"Oh,"  she  laughed;  "let  us  go  back  and 
I'll  grab  him  again.  But,  Colonel,  why  did 
you  give  him  so  much  money?  Could  you 
afford  it?" 

"It  is  a  rare  thing  that  the  man  who  can 
afford  does  afford.  But  I  could  and  I  did. 
Doubtless  a  smaller  amount  would  have 
served  as  well,  but  I  felt  that  the  contribu 
tion  must  be  in  gold  and  I  had  no  suitable 
232 


An  American  in  New  York 

piece.  I  couldn't  ask  for  change,  you  know. 
Well,  we'll  get  a  cab." 

On  the  way  back  to  New  York  he  told  her 
that  he  had  written  to  Skidder,  requesting 
him  to  call  concerning  the  production  of  the 
play.  She  said  that  she  wished  that  he  would 
let  her  be  partner  in  the  venture.  "No  mat 
ter  how  much  it  may  cost  I'll  willingly  fur 
nish  half  the  money,"  she  said. 

"I  wonder  that  you  have  any  money  at  all," 
he  replied.  "Don't  you  know  that  on  my 
part  this  play  is  simply  a  whim ;  and  you  must 
understand  that  a  whim  is  always  a  poor  in 
vestment." 

"But  whims  are  sometimes  our  greatest 
pleasures.  A  poem  is  sometimes  nothing  but 
a  whim.  Your  man  Franklin's  catching  of 
the  lightning  was  nothing  but  a  whim." 

"Margaret,  you  are  the  only  woman  com 
panion  I  have  ever  known." 

"I  think  it's  going  to  rain  again,"  she  said. 

"Rain  again  just  because  you  are  my  only 
woman  companion?" 

They  laughed  with  so  much  more  of  a  gur 
gle  of  sentiment  than  with  a  show  of  mirth 
that  a  mischief-loving  newsboy  brought  for- 

233 


An  American  in  New  York 

ward  a  box  of  sweets,  and  was  rewarded  with 
a  quick  sale. 

"You  either  give  money  or  spend  it  all  the 
time,"  she  said,  nibbling  a  bon-bon.  "But 
tell  me  more  about  your  play." 

"Yes,  speaking  of  giving  money  away. 
Well,  it's  heart  and  treachery;  and  it  seems 
that  if  one  doesn't  catch  'em  the  other  ought. 
Art,  you  know,  is  out  of  the  question.  Art 
makes  its  appearance  as  a  determined  revival. 
Trash  is  spontaneous,  but  the  trash  of  one 
age  may  be  the  art  of  the  age  to  follow.  I 
wonder  what  Sammy  and " 

"Imogene  are  doing?"  she  broke  in.  "Oh, 
chattering  gravities." 

"Yes,  dignifying  trifles." 

"He  seems  to  be  a  very  sane  young  man," 
she  said,  shooting  a  sly  glance  at  him,  pop 
ping  him  with  a  whip  lash  from  the  corner  of 
her  eye. 

"Who,  that  boy!  Crazy  as  a  jumping 
bean.  An  old  fellow  that  used  to  keep  a  toll- 
gate  out  on  the  Bardstown  pike " 

"Of  course,  he  died  many  years  ago,  and 
if  he  did,  we'll  let  him  rest.  We  were  talking 
about  Sammy." 

"Ah,  but  am  I  not  to  illustrate?" 

234 


An  American  in  New  York 

"No,  not  now." 

"Then  you  would  reduce  me  to  a  skeleton. 
Illustration  illumines  truth." 

"Obscures  it." 

"All  right.  Then  without  illustration  I'll 
say  he's  crazy." 

"Over  Imogene?    I  didn't  think  so." 

"You  knew  it.  She  knew  it.  Both  of  you 
knew  it  as  soon  as  he  did." 

She  moved  closer  to  him.  "And  wasn't 
it  an  agreeable  discovery?" 

"Don't  know  about  that.  If  so,  something 
must  have  made  it  agreeable.  What  was  it?" 

"Oh,  perhaps  a  previous  discovery — that 
she  was  crazy  about  him.  She  came  home 
raving  over  him — saw  him  in  a  Mexican  ball 


room." 


"Humph !  Two  wing-broken  birds  flopping 
in  the  air  at  once.  He  followed  her  to  New 
York.  And  if  both  are  crazy,  it  follows  nat 
urally  that  they  must  merge  into  one  insanity. 
But  will  she  marry  a  youth  who  has  his  for 
tune  yet  to  make?" 

"Imogene  has  character — an  individuality 
that  would  scorn  the  selling  of  self.  She  is 
not  handsome,  but  she  is  something  more 
than  handsome;  she  is  a  soul.  If  she  loved  a 

235 


An  American  in  New  York 

drayman  she  would  marry  him  and  take  care 
of  his  horse.  She  could  have  married  a  titled 
foreigner;  she  could  have  lived  in  a  worm- 
eaten  mansion,  and  what  could  appeal  more 
to  a  romantic  girl?  There  is  only  one  thing 
that  I  regret,  concerning  it  all — I  regret  that 
he  is  not  really  your  son." 

He  was  holding  her  hand.  Slowly  she 
took  it  away.  "No,"  she  said.  "No.  I  can't 
forget  the  other  woman.  And  I  ought  this 
moment  to  despise  myself,  but  somehow  I 
can't.  I  have  no  right  to  be  with  you,  no 
right  to  be  happy  with  you,  but  never  have 
I  been  so  contented,  so  completely  at  rest  as 
you  have  made  me.  But  after  to-day  we  must 
meet  only  as 

"Enemies?"  he  said. 

"Only  as  friends." 

"But  haven't  we  been  meeting  as  friends?" 

"At  first  we  were  acquaintances,"  she  said. 
"You  came  with  a  sort  of  soft  and  mellow 
ripeness.  You  reminded  me  of  a  harvest  ap 
ple.  You  told  quaint  stories.  In  your  bow 
there  was  the  gentlemanly  past  portrayed  in 
pantomime."  She  hesitated.  "And  then- 
then  you  paid  court  to  me,  but  now  it  seems 
that  you  have  grown  indifferent." 
236 


An  American  in  New  York 

He  smiled  at  her  and  in  his  smile  there 
was  mischief.  "Was  I  growing  indifferent 
when  I  said  something  which  you  declared  I 
must  never  repeat?  Doesn't  it  seem  that  I 
have  paid  court  in  so  far  as  you  would  per 
mit  me?" 

Suddenly  her  manner,  the  expression  of 
her  countenance  underwent  one  of  those  little 
indefinable  changes  which  it  would  no  doubt 
strain  the  minuteness  of  a  camera  to  catch, 
but  which  means  so  much  as  almost  to  pull 
down  or  to  reconstruct  an  entire  nature.  "Oh, 
but  why  should  you,  a  married  man,  pay 
court  to  me?  You  must  know  that  I  could 
never  permit  such  a  thing.  I  hope  you  have 
not  misunderstood  my — kindness.  As  I  said, 
you  came  with  so  simple,  so  delicious  a  na 
ture,  sparkling  like  the  dew  on  the  clover. 
But  now  it  seems  that  you  suppose  me  to  ex 
pect — oh,  to  be  paid  court  to.  That  was 
taking  a  low  view  of  me,  Colonel." 

"Ah,  madam,  how  you  have  misinterpreted 
me.  Not  for  a  moment  have  I  thought  of 
you  as  other  than  kind;  and  I  knew  that  you 
couldn't  possibly  want  me  to  pay  court  to 

you.     But  I  am  frank  to  say  that  if  I 

he  hesitated  and  eagerly  she  questioned  him. 

237 


An  American  in  New  York 

"But  if  what,  Colonel?"  The  train  had 
stopped  at  a  station  and  her  voice  was  as 
soft  as  the  dusk  twitter  of  a  summer  bird. 

"Madam,  what  I  was  going  to  say,  per 
haps  would  be  better  left  unsaid." 

"That  would  be  taking  an  unfair  ad 
vantage,  Colonel;  and  surely  you  wouldn't 
seek  the  advantage  over  a  friend." 

"I  am  afraid  that  it  might  wound  you." 

"Wound  me !  Am  I  a  peevish  child  to  be 
treated  as  if  I  had  no  estimation  and  no 
thought?" 

"Well — understand  you  urge  me." 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  urge  you." 

"Then  we'll  leave  it  unsaid." 

"And  if  I  had  urged  you  I  don't  suppose 
it  would  have  made  any  difference.  If  it  be 
something  that  I  should  not  hear,  why  I'm 
sure  I  am  quite  capable  of  defending  myself 
against  it.  But  of  course  I  shall  not  invite  a 
tingling  of  the  ears.  Perhaps  it  was  better 
that  you  didn't  say  it.  Yes,  and  I  thank  you 
for  keeping  it  back." 

The  train  moved  on.  The  lamps  were 
lighted.  A  boy  came  through  with  the  latest 
238 


An  American  in  New  York 

editions  of  the  afternoon  newspapers.  The 
Colonel  bought  three  or  four.  The  Widow 
took  up  a  pink  sheet  and  sat  looking  out  into 
the  dark.  Then  she  glanced  at  the  head 
lines.  The  Colonel  caught  up  a  statistical 
editorial  on  immigration  and  became  inter 
ested  in  it. 

"It  is  pleasant  to  travel  with  one  that 
reads  all  the  time,"  she  said. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but  I  thought 
you  were  reading." 

"You  gave  me  every  inducement  to  read, 
I'm  sure.  Yes,  even  to  the  buying  of  news 
papers  and  foisting  them  upon  me.  And  I 
suppose  that  now  every  intention  of  telling 
me  what  you  had  intended  to  say  and  so  un 
graciously  held  back  has  passed  out  of  your 
head.  Has  it?" 

"May  be  I  had  dismissed  it." 

"And  am  I  so  easily  dismissed,  Colonel? 
Now,  why  don't  you  tell  me?" 

"I  will.  I  was  going  to  say  that  if  ever 
I  had  met  a  woman  who  unconsciously  on 
her  part  demanded  that  I  should  pay  court 
to  her,  regardless  of  all  existing  and  all  pre- 
239 


An  American  in  New  York 

vious  obligations,  it  was  surely  yourself.  I 
was  going  to  say  that  with  the  purest  relig 
ion  in  my  heart  I  could  kneel  to  you  and 

"Some  one  is  listening,  I'm  sure.  No,  you 
mustn't  talk  that  way.  Oh,  here  we  are  at 
the  ferry." 


240 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

BROUGHT  HIM  A  NOTE. 

As  they  were  crossing  the  black  water  he 
addressed  her  as  madam  and  she  seemed  sur 
prised.  "I  thought  you  were  going  to  call 
me  Margaret."  He  said  that  somehow  his 
freedom  with  her  was  gone,  since  she  had  ob 
jected  to  it,  and  she  declared  that  she  had  not 
objected.  Silently  they  drove  up  town,  and 
just  before  getting  out  at  the  hotel  she  said: 
"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  not  to  say  anything 
to  Sammy — not  to  let  him  know  that  Imo- 
gene  thinks  more  of  him  than  of  a  friend. 
Let  him  find  it  out  for  himself.  It  is  always 
sweeter  then.  Let  me  thank  you  for  a  happy 
day.  No,  for  a  day  when  you  have  been 
kind  enough  to  put  up  with  me." 

The  Colonel  went  to  Sammy's  room.  The 
young  fellow  was  walking  up  and  down,  and 
seemed  to  be  sick  with  a  long  period  of  trou 
ble-bringing  meditation.  He  shook  hands 
with  the  Colonel  as  if  many  months  had 
elapsed  since  their  separation.  During  the 
day  he  had  not  seen  much  of  Imogene,  but 
241 


An  American  in  New  York 

he  had  seen  enough  to  know  firmly  and 
finally  what  he  had  all  along  suspected,  that 
she  did  not  love  him.  He  had  never  believed 
that  she  did.  How  could  she,  so  graceful,  so 
aspiring,  such  a  thinker,  such  a  soul?  He  had 
come  to  her  as  one  of  the  many  ordinary 
chaps,  loving  but  incapable  of  making  a  liv 
ing.  This  fact  alone  while  materialistic  and 
having  naught  to  do  with  the  soul,  proved 
that  he  was  not  worthy  of  her,  a  man  of  no 
force,  a  failure.  All  of  this  was  as  preface 
to  another  edition  of  his  desire  to  acquaint 
her  with  his  prospects.  But  the  Colonel 
shook  his  head. 

"It  is  hardly  worth  while  for  me  to  re 
peat  what  I've  said  on  the  subject.  But  I 
will.  If  she's  not  willing,  yes,  anxious  to  take 
you  whether  or  no,  she's  not  worth  having. 
Never  let  anything  crowd  that  out  of  your 
mind." 

"But  see  here,  dad;  isn't  a  girl  to  use  any 
judgment  at  all?  If  not  she  might  just  as 
well  accept  one  fellow  as  another." 

"Then  you  think  it  ought  to  be  a  show 
down  of  pocket-books,  eh?" 

"Oh,  not  that,  dad;  of  course  not  that. 
But  he  ought  to  show  in  some  way  that  he's 
242 


An  American  in  New  York 

worth  something.  You  can't  leave  it  to  a 
fellow's  own  expression  of  what  is  in  him — • 
when  he  is  almost  stricken  dumb.  That's  the 
reason  the  insincere  duffer  sometimes  wins 
the  finest  woman.  Insincerity  is  glib,  while 
a  genuine  white  heat  of  love  often  splutters. 
And  like  every  other  galoot  of  my  class,  the 
moment  I'm  away  from  her  there  wheels 
into  action  a  machine  gun,  popping  out  words 
five  hundred  to  the  minute.  Let's  eat  here, 
dad.  I  don't  want  to  go  down  and  run  the 
risk  of  seeing  her  again  to-day." 

This  met  the  Colonel's  view,  and  they  or 
dered  dinner  to  be  served  in  the  room.  The 
American  was  not  disposed  to  talk,  not  even 
to  tell  a  story;  nothing  reminded  him  of  OW 
So-and-so,  and  Sammy  remarked  upon  it. 

"Hadn't  noticed  that  I  was  silent,  my 
boy." 

"Silence  contemplates  noises  but  not  it 
self,"  said  the  youth. 

"Eh,  getting  back  among  'em — Lucullus 
and  the  rest.  Didactic  and  in  love.  But  if 
you've  retained  any  scraps  of  learning,  don't 
flash  'em  in  New  York.  They'll  call  you 
schoolmaster,  and  they  have  a  contempt  for 

243 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  pedagogue.  What's  become  of  her 
brother?" 

"Dick?  Oh,  he  comes  around  once  in  a 
while.  I  don't  think  he  likes  me  very  much. 
To-day  he  took  her  off  to  one  side  and  talked 
to  her." 

"Wanted  to  borrow  money  from  her,  I 
guess,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"I  wonder  if  that  was  it.  She  gave  him 
something." 

"That  was  it,  I  warrant  you." 

"Dad,  you've  got  us  all  sized  up  pretty 
well." 

"All  but  myself,  and  there  I  stall. 
Thought  I  had  the  Widow  placed  pretty 
well,  but  didn't.  Gad,  she's  quirky,  and  part 
of  the  time  to-day  she  made  me  as  sad  as — 
sad  as  low  water." 

"As  low  water!    Is  that  sad?" 

"If  you'd  ever  been  a  steamboatman  you'd 
think  so.  Reckon  I  was  too  open  a  book  for 
her.  She  committed  me  to  memory  and  now 
— now  she  can  repeat  me  at  her  leisure." 

The  boy  sat  musing.     In  his  mind  there 

dwelled  something  that  the  girl  had  told  him 

in  confidence:      "I   don't  know  what  is  the 

trouble  with  Aunt  Mag.     And  I'm  going  to 

244 


An  American  in  New  York 

say  something  I  shouldn't  say,  for  it's  awful, 
but  I  believe  that  in  spite  of  herself  she  is 
in  love  with  the  Colonel.  Just  think  how 
desperate  that  would  be — in  love  with  a  mar 
ried  man.  But  of  course  it  will  be  impossible 
for  him  ever  to  discover  it.  Like  the  strong 
woman  she  is  she'll  hide  it.  And  that  is  what 
real  virtue  means,  suppression  and  renuncia 
tion." 

The  boy  wanted  to  tell  him  as  he  sat  there, 
pondering,  doubtless  thinking  of  her,  but  un 
der  the  bond  of  confidence  the  youth  was 
dumb. 

Dinner  was  served.  The  Colonel  had 
lighted  his  cigar  and  was  meditatively  smok 
ing  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Sammy  answered  it.  A  page  wanted  to  know 
if  the  Colonel  were  within.  He  had  brought 
a  note.  The  American  took  it,  and  though 
the  handwriting  was  not  familiar,  his  fingers 
trembled  as  he  tore  open  the  envelope.  It 
was  from  the  Widow,  and  thus  the  note  ran 
in  characters  almost  tumbling  over  one  an 
other  in  their  haste : 

"My  Dear  Chum: — I  couldn't  let  the 
night  pass  into  the  darkness  of  all  the  other 
nights  without  a  show  of  repentance  on  my 

245 


An  American  in  New  York 

part  for  my  beastly  humor  to-day.  I  don't 
know  why  I  was  so  inhuman  as  to  cross  you, 
the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  indeed,  the  only 
spiritual  friend  I  have  ever  known.  Have 
you  looked  out  upon  this  night?  The  clouds 
are  gone,  like  my  mean  humor,  and  the  moon 
is  shining,  and  the  upper  air  is  star-dusty  as 
if  some  one  were  beating  a  carpet  in  the 
milky-way.  How  patient  you  were — how 
kind  when  I  was  at  my  worst.  But  one  of 
these  days  I  am  going  to  put  your  good  hu 
mor  to  the  test ;  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some 
thing  of  my  life  and  then  you  must  despise 
me.  How  natural  I  feel  to-night,  and  a  wom 
an  is  always  weak  when  she  is  natural.  But 
who  ever  loved  a  strong  woman?  Who  is 
the  author  of  this,  or  is  it  a  proverb  out  of 
the  anonymous  fog  of  the  ages:  (A  man 
loves  with  his  eyes  and  a  woman  with  her 
ears.'  Is  that  the  reason  why  a  beautiful 
young  woman,  an  heiress,  courted  by  sappy 
lords,  fell  in  love  with  Old  Sheridan,  the 
pauper  genius?  Love!  Indian  philosophy 
called  it  wisdom.  I  wonder  if  it  is.  Whence 
comes  it?  And  if  it  be  of  a  sort  forbidden 
of  man,  why  should  it  not  have  been  forbid 
den  of  God  and  not  permitted  to  be  born? 
However  I  do  not  write  to  philosophize  but 
to  ask  pardon  for  my  pettishness  to-day. 
Can  you  recall  the  words  you  spoke  at  the 
grave  of  Franklin?  I  wish  you  would  write 

246 


An  American  in  New  York 

them  for  me.  Imogene  is  sad  to-night.  She 
has  been  convinced  that  Sammy  does  not  love 
her.  How  blind  some  people  are.  I  should 
like  to  tell  her  what  you  told  me,  that  he  is 
crazy  over  her,  but  must  not.  It  would  be  a 
violation  of  your  confidence.  At  this  mo 
ment  I  suppose  you  are  telling  a  story,  hav 
ing  forgotten  all  about  our  little  journey; 
and  at  this  moment,  too,  there  comes  the 
strains  of  a  waltz.  I  wonder  if  you  hear  it. 
Good  night." 


Carefully  the  Colonel  put  the  paper  into 
his  pocket.  Then  he  took  it  out,  read  it  again 
and  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book. 

"Anything  gone  wrong?"  Sammy  in 
quired. 

"Oh,  no,  everything's  all  right." 

"From— er— " 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  and  she  has  written  to  say  that  Imo 
gene  doesn't  want  to  see  me  again.  Is  that 
it?" 

"Far  from  it." 

"Are  you  sure,  dad?" 

"Well,  I  can  read." 

"What  does  she  say?  It  must  be  some 
thing,  for  it  hasn't  been  long  since  you  saw 

247 


An  American  in  New  York 

her.  It  is  something  that  has  come  up  sud 
denly.  Does  she  mention  me  at  all?" 

"Sammy,  she's  a  most  remarkable — I 
might  say  a  most  unexpected  woman.  Some 
how  we  didn't  get  along  very  well  coming 
back.  I  seemed  to  have  lost  out  with  her; 
I  couldn't  say  anything  to  glamour  her,  so 
to  speak.  And  she  showed  her  impatience. 
Now  she  writes  to  show  her  repentance." 

"Dad,  she  loves  you.  That's  all  there  is 
to  it." 

"None  of  that,  you  rascal.  Charming  ras 
cal,  though,  i'gad.  But  how  can  she  when 
she  thinks  I'm  married?" 

"Dad,  you're  old  fashioned." 

"What,  because  I  attribute  to  woman — " 

"A  lack  of  human  nature,"  said  the  youth. 
"Woman's  nature  hasn't  changed,  but  from 
what  I  can  gather  it  was  the  fashion  in  the 
South  for  man  gallantly  to  blind  himself  to 
ward  her  human  qualities  and  to  open  wide 
his  eyes  to  angelic  attributes.  In  matters  of 
the  heart  he  made  her  superhumanly  strong. 
Do  you  suppose  that  when  a  man  and  a  wom 
an  are  constantly  thrown  together — when 
they  are  such  companions  as  to  forget  sex — 
do  you  suppose  the  fact  that  one  of  them  is 
248 


An  American  in  New  York 

married  constantly  lives  in  the  mind  of  the 
other?  Do  you?" 

"I  don't  suppose  anything,  Sammy.  Two 
or  three  times  to-day  I  began  to  suppose,  and 
then  found  out  I  was  wrong.  But  never  in 
the  South  or  elsewhere  have  I  set  up  the  di 
vinely  unnatural  for  woman.  I  have  been 
too  much  of  a  rounder  not  to  know  some 
thing  of  life,  and  if  I  started  out  in  the  be 
lief  that  woman  was  at  all  times  an  angel, 
the  idea  has  at  least  been  jostled  a  time  or 
two." 

He  arose  and,  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
meditatively  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 
There  came  another  knock  at  the  door,  and 
the  page  that  had  brought  the  note  from  the 
Widow,  now  brought  a  card  from  Joseph 
Aukwall  Skidder. 


249 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

UNDER  WAY. 

Mr.  Skidder  appeared,  fur-shedding  plug 
hat  in  hand,  bowing  in  the  door;  and  as  an 
old  acquaintance  the  Colonel  seized  him  by 
the  hand.  "But  we'd  better  go  to  my  room," 
said  the  American.  "The  play  is  there. 
Come,  both  of  you." 

The  drama  was  hauled  out  and  the  experi 
enced  Mr.  Skidder  shuddered  at  its  bulk. 
He  reached  down  and  felt  about  his  ankles 
to  determine  whether  or  not  his  faded  yellow 
spats  were  buttoned,  placed  his  black-thorn 
cane  on  the  floor  beside  his  chair,  rolled  his 
eyes  in  mute  appeal  at  the  Colonel  and  said 
that  he  was  ready.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
yielded  to  the  final  adjustment  of  the  sheriff. 
Sammy  stood  with  one  arm  resting  on  the 
low  mantelpiece. 

As  the  Colonel  began  to  arrange  the  type 
written  sheets  he  said  that  he  was  no  reader. 
Mr.  Skidder  spoke  in  commendation  of  this 
apparent  fault,  saying  that  the  qualities  of  a 
play  should  be  bright  enough  to  shine 
250 


An  American  in  New  York 

through  the  evils  of  bad  declamation.  The 
Colonel  looked  at  him,  smiled  and  gave  him 
an  approving  nod.  Then  he  began  to  speak 
of  the  conditions  under  which  the  play  had 
been  written;  and  in  the  gentlest  manner 
Skidder  gave  him  to  understand  that  the  pub 
lic  didn't  give,  uah,  a  damn  for  conditions." 

"I  was  giving  them  for  your  own  informa 
tion,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Ah,  yes,  of  course."  He  picked  up  his 
cane,  stuck  the  head  of  it  into  his  cheek,  took 
it  out,  put  the  cane  down  and  with  his  hand 
kerchief  dusted  his  spats.  Sammy  stood  with 
his  eyes  half  closed,  like  a  colt  dreaming  in 
the  sun. 

"Understand,"  said  the  Colonel,  "that  I 
don't  know  how  to  pull  the  strings  that  fetch 
them  on  or  off." 

Skidder  looked  at  him  compassionately. 
How  was  it  possible  for  him  to  know?  Had 
it  not  taken  Hartley  Campbell  and  some  of 
the  rest  of  them  nearly  half  a  lifetime  to 
understand? 

"But,"  said  the  Colonel,  "I  am  not  too  set 
in  my  ways  to  accept  of  advice.  IVe  got  it 
cut  up  into  acts  all  right." 

Skidder  could  not-  restrain  the  remark: 
251 


An  American  in  New  York 

uYes,  but  that  much  was  done  toward  dram 
atizing  the  New  Testament;  the  acts  of  the 
Apostles,  you  know." 

The  Colonel  laughed.  "Well  said,  Davy, 
most  excellent  said;  and  you  may  now  sow 
the  headland  with  wheat — with  red  wheat, 
Davy." 

Skidder  looked  at  him  with  a  comedy 
squint  in  the  eye.  "Good  as  a  paraphrase  but 
deplorable  as  a  quotation.  I  beg  your  par 
don  if  I  interrupt." 

"Oh,  not  at  all.    Well,  I'll  begin  now." 

He  read  the  first  act,  or  rather  the  first 
break-off;  and  the  actor  smiled  approvingly, 
slowly  nodding  his  apparently  thoughtful 
head.  Sammy  continued  to  dream,  his  eyes 
half  shut. 

The  second  break-off  was  read.  Skidder 
got  up,  shook  down  the  legs  of  his  trousers 
and  resumed  his  .seat.  Sammy's  eyes  were 
closed.  No  one  spoke,  and  after  waiting  for 
a  few  moments,  the  Colonel  went  on  with  his 
labor.  And  it  was  labor.  On  his  brow  stood 
beads  of  perspiration.  It  seemed  that  his 
mind  had  broken  out  in  blisters.  Another 
curtain.  Skidder  spoke  approvingly.  Sammy 
was  gone.  The  end  must  come  sometime, 
252 


An  American  in  New  York 

and  it  came.  "Good,"  the  actor  cried.  "I 
don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  make  a  hit.  The 
characters  are  true,  the  situ " 

"That's  all  very  well,"  the  Colonel  broke 
in,  "but  tell  me  the  truth,  or  rather  what  you 
conceive  to  be  true.  I  mean  business  and 
didn't  request  you  to  call  to  flatter  me.  Do 
you  think  that  the  thing  can  be  larrupped 
into  shape?" 

"Well,  it  would  be  almost  like  dramatiz 
ing  a  novel." 

"Well,  that  has  been  done,  hasn't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but  the  trouble  will  be — well,  in 
finding  a  manager,  a  producer,  an  angel,  if  I 
may  employ  a  term  familiar  to  the  profes 


sion." 


"Manager  be  blowed  and  angel  be  hanged. 
But  I  beg  your  pardon,  for  I  haven't  as  yet 
made  it  clear  to  you  what  my  intention  is. 
I'm  to  be  my  own  producer.  I  understand 
that  Daly's  can  be  rented;  and  I  know  that 
actors  as  well  as  other  men  can  be  hired." 

Skidder  sprang  up  with  a  clap  of  his  hands. 
"By  the  Lord,  you  can  hire  me." 

"All  right,  sit  down.  I  want  to  engage 
you  to  play  the  part  of  the  betrayed  hero,  and 
to  act  as  stage  manager.  You  are  to  get  the 

253 


An  American  in  New  York 

company  together,  and  sign  agreements  in 
my  name,  to  pay  good  salaries.  Your  own 
salary — well,  now,  let's  see.  I  don't  know 
much  about  it,  you  understand.  How  would 
three  hundred  a  week " 

At  this  moment  Skidder  no  doubt  per 
formed  his  life's  masterpiece  of  acting.  His 
heart  had  jumped  out,  over  the  top  of  his 
head,  but  he  caught  it  in  the  air,  choked  it 
into  submission,  and  back  into  his  tumultuous 
bosom  he  tossed  it,  smothered  it.  He  thought 
that  three  hundred  a  week  might  do,  as  a 
starter.  In  his  hey-day,  at  the  time  when  he 
had  cut  freshest  and  dewiest  grass,  his  salary 
had  never  kicked  its  heels  above  the  fifty-a- 
week  mark.  Once  with  a  road  company  play 
ing  the  Lady  of  Lyons  he  had  signed  at  one 
hundred,  but  not  more  than  ten  a  week  had 
ever  been  paid.  And  was  he  now  to  wade 
out,  throat  deep  into  such  wealth  ? 

"I  haven't  as  yet  settled  on  a  title,"  said 
the  Colonel.  "It  has  seemed  to  me  a  pretty 
hard  thing  to  get  at." 

The  actor  put  his  elbow  upon  the  arm  of 
the  chair,  gripped  his  brow  and  in  this  posi 
tion  pondered  deeply.  Finally  he  came  out 
of  his  meditation  and  waved  his  hand  as  if 

254 


An  American  in  New  York 

flagging  a  train  of  thought.  "I  think  I  have 
it,  sir,"  he  said.  "Call  it  Click  City.  The 
name  is  of  the  town,  and  as  apparently  no 
mistake  was  made  in  naming  plays  after 
states,  I  shouldn't  think  it  would  be  a  risk  to 
—I  might  say,  to  particularize  with  the  name 
of  a  town." 

The  Colonel  took  up  the  first  page  of  his 
manuscript  and  looked  at  it,  as  if  he  would 
imagine  Click  City  written  at  the  top.  "Per 
haps  we  might  as  well  settle  on  that  name." 

"And  the   name  of  the   author  is   to   be 


"To  you  and  the  people  of  this  hotel  I  am 
J.  Boyers.  Whether  or  not  this  is  my  real 
name  makes  no  difference,  since  I  run  no 
bills  and  since  I  shall  pay  you  weekly  in  ad 
vance,  if  you  like." 

Skidder  hooted  at  the  notion  that  it  could 
make  any  difference,  and  especially  with  him 
self.  But  his  breathing  was  noticeably  easier 
after  the  mention  of  "advance." 

"But,"  added  the  Colonel,  "for  reasons  of 
my  own  I  am  going  to  have  it  printed  on  the 
bills  'By  an  American  in  New  York.'  " 

"Capital,"  cried  Skidder.  "Great.  And 
now  do  you  want  me  to  get  some  one  to 

255 


An  American  in  New  York 

dramatize  it  for  you,  or  shall  I  take  a  pull  at 
it  myself?  I  am  not  a  stranger  at  the  work. 
I  have  plucked  many  a  tail  feather  out  of 
plays  flying  past  and  have  adorned  many  a 
gloomy  scene  with  them." 

"Well,  you  may  take  it  and  do  the  best 
you  can,  but  there  must  be  no  theft.  Use  the 
material  I  give  you,  and  if  we  fail,  let  us  fail 
honestly.  As  soon  as  you  get  an  act  done, 
bring  it  to  me.  Ah,  by  the  way,  I  think  you'd 
better  take  up  your  quarters  here,  at  the  Wal 
dorf,  at  my  expense,  of  course,  so  as  to  be  in 
immediate  touch  with  me." 

Skidder  was  staggered.  "Ah,"  he  said  in 
a  sad  tone,  "nothing  could  give  me  more 
pleasure,  or  indeed  more  standing,  but  the 
present  state  of  my  wardrobe " 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you.  I'll  give  you 
a  bonus  of  a  couple  of  hundred — or  rather 
an  advance  on  your  salary,  not  as  actor  but 
as  playwright." 

The  actor  could  act  no  longer.  He 
bounded  across  the  floor  and  seized  the  Col 
onel's  hand.  "Ah,  sir,  you  may  not  as  you 
say  know  how  to  pull  the  string  to  fetch  the 
characters  on  or  off,  but  you  know  how  to 

256 


An  American  in  New  York 

operate  the  golden  cord  to  pull  the  long- 
sunken  sun  out  of  his  bed." 

"Sit  down." 

"I  shall  not  sit  down  until  I  tell  you  or 
try  to  tell  you  what  I  think.  You  are  a 
materialized  generosity,  come  out  of  the 
spiritual  world  of  art.  You  have  no  doubt 
been  engaged  in  great  enterprises  and  have 
made  souls  happy,  but  never  a  poor  soul  so 
happy  as  this  one  to-night.  You  first  met  me 
under  most  unfortunate  circumstances,  and 
that  makes  more  wonderful  the  miracle  of  it 
all." 

uSit  down,  please." 

uln  a  moment,  sir.  Whiskey  is  the  feeder 
of  two  moods,  despondency  and  elation,  and 
as  it  has  fed  one,  it  shall  not  feed  the  other. 
Once  more  I  must  grasp  your  hand.  I  don't 
think  that  in  the  world  there  is  much  of  grat 
itude,  and  especially  does  it  seem  rare  among 
those  connected  with  the  stage,  but  if  I 
haven't  it,  damned  if  I  don't  pray  for  it. 
That's  all  I  have  to  say,  and  now  for  work." 

He  began  to  bundle  up  the  manuscript. 
The  Colonel  gave  him  two  one  hundred  dol 
lar  bank  notes.  He  took  them  as  if  they 
were  stage  money,  and  with  a  flourish  tucked 
257 


An  American  in  New  York 

them  into  a  pocket  of  his  "wescut;"  and  then, 
with  the  play  under  his  arm,  he  backed  out, 
bowing.  The  American  stood  beneath  the 
chandelier.  From  his  pocketbook  he  took 
two  sheets  of  paper  and  stood  there  a  long 
time,  fondly  gazing  at  them. 


258 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  PRESS  AGENT. 

While  yet  the  Colonel  stood  there,  gazing 
at  the  paper,  he  cried  out:  "Why,  bless  my 
life,  this  ought  to  be  answered.  What  could 
I  have  been  thinking  about,  talking  to  actors 
and  scheming  to  bring  out  a  play.  Ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  myself  to  neglect  so  important 
a  matter." 

He  sat  down,  opened  his  desk,  drew  out  a 
block  of  paper  and  with  a  stub  pen  began 
almost  furiously  to  write.  But  when  with  big 
characters  he  had  covered  a  sheet  he  ripped  it 
off,  muttered,  "won't  do/'  and  tore  it  into 
pieces.  "Now,  just  what  sort  of  a  letter 
should  a  supposedly  married  man  write  to  a 
woman  who  tries  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him, 
repents  most  womanishly,  and  going  into  the 
sky  for  a  figure,  catches  a  star  on  the  point 
of  her  pen  and  throws  it  at  him !  Propriety 
would  seem  cold.  And  yet,  impropriety 
would  mean  insult.  But  why  not  write  to  her 
and  tell  her  what  a  liar  I  have  been — declare 
my  love  for  her?  And  I  do  love  her.  Not 
259 


An  American  in  New  York 

with  the  wildness  that  I  loved  Mary,  but  it  is 
just  as  deep,  just  as  strong.  It  is  romance 
not  in  the  morning  but  at  noon.  What  am  I 
thinking  about?  She  is  simply  playing  with 
me.  She  wants  to  force  from  me  some  sort 
of  declaration  and  then  deliver  a  lecture  on 
morality.  I'll  simply  write  her  a  humorous 
note.  I  shall  be  more  guarded  with  her,  and 
when  the  play  has  been  brought  out — when  I 
find — find  what?  I  guess  I'm  a  little  flur 
ried.  I'll  go  to  bed  and  think  it  over. 
Sammy  says  she  loves  me.  Does  the  young 
scoundrel  think  that  such  a  thing  could  be 
possible  under  existing  circumstances?  What 
a  fool  position  for  a  man  to  place  himself  in. 
Why  did  I  take  up  such  a  whim  in  the  first 
place?  Because  I  wanted  friendship  and 
didn't  want  to  run  the  risk  of  other  entangle 
ments.  Nice  mess  I've  made  of  it.  I'll  call 
on  her  as  early  to-morrow  morning  as  seems 
proper  and  tell  her — tell  her  what?  That  I 
have  made  arrangements  to  have  my  play 
brought  out."  He  turned  out  the  lights  and 
sat  in  the  dark,  looking  out  upon  the  mottled 
night.  It  was  time  to  go  to  bed,  but  he  con 
tinued  long  to  sit  there,  musing,  wondering  if 
he  had  not  made  a  mistake  in  everything 
260 


An  American  in  New  York 

he  had  done  since  coming;  wondering,  in 
deed,  if  he  had  not  made  a  mistake  in  com 
ing.  "I  will  sleep,"  he  said,  uand  then  I  will 
write  to  her.  Says  she  will  tell  me  some 
thing  to  make  me  despise  her.  Hanged  if 
women  haven't  done  that  very  sort  of  thing. 
And  that  is  the  sort  of  thing  they  sometimes 
want  to  tell.  A  woman  believes  that  some 
sort  of  confession  is  demanded  of  her.  Well, 
I'm  not  demanding  any  confessions  from  this 
woman.  Suppose  she  should  demand  them 
from  me?" 

In  bed  he  lay  a  long  time,  carrying  a 
thought  up  to  the  verge  of  a  dream,  stum 
bling  and  then  back  into  wide  wakefulness. 
And  when  daylight  came  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  slept  only  in  winks,  but  he  felt 
fresh  and  his  mind  was  clear  for  the  writ 
ing  of  the  letter.  At  ten  o'clock  he  was  still 
at  the  work,  trying  to  get  at  what  he  wanted 
to  say  and  then  laboriously  copying  what  he 
had  not  said  to  suit  himself.  There  came  a 
noise  at  the  door,  intended  to  be  a  knock  but 
which  sounded  as  if  some  one  had  sighed  his 
way  to  the  threshold  and  then  thumped  in  a 
sort  of  despair  with  a  help-begging  palm. 
"Take  off  your  boxing  gloves,  knock  with 
261 


An  American  in  New  York 

your  knuckles  and  come  in,"  called  out  the 
Colonel,  knowing  that  it  was  Sammy;  and  it 
was.  He  came  in  and  the  fancy  that  he  had 
sighed  his  way  to  the  door  was  not  far  from 
the  truth.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  been  seized 
by  the  old  washerwoman  Fate  and  run 
through  the  wringer  of  distress. 

"Gone,"  he  gasped,  dropping  into  a  chair. 

"Well,  hanged  if  you  don't  look  it." 

"I  mean  they  are — she  is." 

The  Colonel  arose  and  went  toward  him. 
"Eh?  Now  tell  me  what  you  do  mean. 
Who's  gone?" 

"They  are — Imogene.  They  went  just 
now,  and  with  no  word  except  one  or  two 
that  I  could  scarcely  understand.  I  was  in 
the  corrider  waiting  to  catch  the  earliest  pos 
sible  glimpse  of  her,  and  I  saw  the  porters 
bringing  the  trunks  out;  and  then  they  came 
bundled  up,  and  her  face  looked  as  if  she  had 
been  crying.  I  asked  the  meaning  of  it  all, 
and  Imogene  halted  to  tell  me,  but  her  Aunt 
bade  her  come  on.  I  followed  along  and 
learned  that  they  were  going  up  into  Con 
necticut  to  be  gone  the  Lord  only  knows  how 
long.  She  said  that  she  would  write — 
begged  me  not  to  follow,  and  looked  at  me 
262 


An  American  in  New  York 

with  such  appeal  that  my  legs  seemed  to  give 
way  under  me  and  there  I  was,  leaning 
against  the  wall  and  they  were  gone.  As 
soon  as  I  could  I  ran  down  and  asked  the 
clerk  if  any  address  had  been  left  and  he  said 
that  there  had  not.  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
any  idea,  and  he  smiled  like  a  frost  crack  in 
a  pumpkin.  I  knew  that  letter  you  had  last 
night  contained  something,  and  it  was  cruel 
not  to  tell  me,  dad." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  stepping  back, 
taking  up  the  sheets  upon  which  he  had  writ 
ten  and  beginning  to  tear  them  to  pieces. 
"Something,  but  written  in  confidence  and  I 
couldn't  tell  you.  But  there  was  in  the  note 
no  threat  of  this  run-away,  and  my  word  for 
it,  nothing  to  give  rise  to  the  suspicion  that 
the  girl  is  not  as  insane  about  you  as  you 
are  about  her.  So,  don't  let  that  part  wor 
ry  you.  The  fact  is,  the  Widow  has  gone  to 
punish  me." 

"But  why  does  she  want  to  punish  you? 
What  have  you  done,  except  to  treat  her 
kindly — I  mean  to  show  her " 

"That's  just  it,  my  boy.  I'm  afraid  I  did 
show  her." 

"Show  her  what?" 

263 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Well,  must  have  angered  her  by  showing 
that  I  was  in  love  with  her." 

"Dad,  you  make  me  tired.  That's  exactly 
what  you  didn't  show  her  and  it  is  what  she 
looked  for.  Now,  don't  fly  off  into  virtue 
and  morality.  A  woman's  a  woman,  and 
that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Suppose  you  are 
married?  Yes,  but  isn't  there  such  a  thing 
as  divorce,  and  wouldn't  she  marry  you  if 
she  thought  you  divorced,  yes,  and  on  her  ac 
count?  It  is  a  proof  of  a  woman's  strength 
if  she  can  bring  about  a  divorce,  and  she 
loses  sight  of  the  weakness  on  the  part  of 
the  man." 

"Oh,"  said  the  Colonel,  "I  had  forgotten 
you  were  educated  in  Chicago.  But  go 
ahead,  sage — destined  to  be  bald  before 
gray.  But  I  want  to  tell  you :  It  is  singular 
that  you  are  old  enough  to  understand  my 
case  and  yet  so  young  that  your  own  is  a 
mystery  to  you.  Are  widows  the  only  open- 
face  time  keepers  of  society?  For  my  part 
I'm  glad  they  are  gone." 

"Dad!" 

"That's  what  I  said.  It  will  give  me  a 
chance  to  get  my  play  in  shape,  while  if  she 
were  here  I  should  neglect  everything  for 
264 


An  American  in  New  York 

her.     You'll  hear  from  the  girl.     Don't  wor 
ry  about  that." 

He  pretended  not  to  be  worried,  but  he 
was — not  so  much  because  the  woman  was 
gone,  but  because  he  could  not  get  rid  of 
the  thought  that  he  had  in  some  way  acted 
the  fool.  Sammy  went  out,  into  mourning, 
and  was  not  seen  again  during  the  day.  At 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Skidder  made 
his  appearance,  in  new  black  with  a  flowered 
"vest,"  and  with  a  plug  hat  that  mirrored 
his  surroundings.  His  thorn-stick,  compan 
ion  and  sign  of  profitless  wanderings  up 
and  down  the  actor  market-place,  had  been 
supplanted  by  a  slight  cane,  gold-headed  and 
silver  shod;  he  was  shaved  and  rosy  with 
prospects,  having  been  bathed  in  the  sunshine 
of  promise.  Within  half  an  hour  he  was  at 
work,  bell-boys  flying  about  him,  and  the  Col 
onel,  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  mar 
veled  at  his  dexterity,  wondering  why  he  had 
not  always  found  employment.  In  dramatic 
work  one  swift  judgment  is  worth  a  world  of 
detail.  A  thousand  words  put  into  a  look, 
ten  pages  into  a  gesture — a  volume  into  a 
situation,  mean  success.  The  superfine  liter 
ary  touch  is  nearly  always  fatal.  The  old 

265 


An  American  in  New  York 

dramatists  spoke,  but  they  talked  in  pictures, 
painted  scenery  at  a  time  when  there  was  no 
overalled  artist  with  a  bucket;  they  thun 
dered,  and  literature  that  seeks  to  follow 
them  can  only  echo. 

Skidder  had  not  the  failing  of  a  literary 
touch.  But  he  knew  the  value  of  a  poetic 
thought  expressed  in  action.  And  swift  ac 
tion  expressed  his  own  performance,  for  by 
midnight  the  first  act  was  as  nearly  com 
pleted  as  it  could  well  be  made  without  the 
test  of  rehearsal.  The  Colonel  listened  to 
the  reading,  sometimes  with  an  expression  of 
pain,  for  he  saw  many  of  his  fancies  fall  like 
birds  shot  dead  in  the  air.  He  begged  al 
most  piteously  for  one  of  his  long  speeches, 
but  the  dramatist  shook  his  head,  and  re 
marked:  "The  reason  I've  been  so  poor  an 
actor  is  perhaps  because  I've  been  so  good  a 
playwright."  This  was  in  one  way  encour 
aging  but  alarming  in  another,  for  the  play 
must  be  acted  as  well  as  written.  The  Col 
onel  said  that  he  hoped — and  Skidder  shut 
him  off  with  the  assurance  that  he  had  noth 
ing  to  fear.  On  the  day  following  the  work 
was  slower,  not  because  ambition  was  less  but 
because  capacity  had  been  strained.  The  Col- 
266 


An  American  in  New  York 

onel  had  learned  something  and  now  in  his 
own  room  he  worked  on  the  third  act,  be 
lieving  that  in  cutting  out  everything  he  could 
make  no  mistake,  but  Skidder  showed  him 
that  he  had  simply  shortened  without  having 
embodied.  The  American  swore  that  the  dev 
ilish  thing  was  too  elusive  for  him,  and  after 
a  long  and  finally  successful  search  for  his  hat 
he  went  out  for  a  walk  in  the  park.  In  the  air 
was  the  first  suggestion  of  the  coming  spring. 
No  bud  had  begun  to  swell  and  there  was  no 
peep  of  green;  but  the  atmosphere  was  soft 
and  from  the  ground  toward  the  top  of  a 
tree  an  oriole  flew,  streaming  a  string  from 
his  beak.  The  Colonel  was  sitting  on  a  bench 
where  the  sunlight  fell,  when  Sammy  came  up, 
and  as  such  a  meeting  in  New  York  is  ever 
regarded  as  a  coincidence,  they  shook  hands 
and  asked  after  each  other's  health,  though 
they  had  breakfasted  together. 

"I  have  heard  from  her,"  said  Sammy. 

"Good.     Or  is  it  good?" 

"Well,  it  could  be  worse.  She  sent  me  a 
poem." 

"One  of  her  own,  and  yet  could  be  worse?" 

"Now,  dad,  none  of  that.  But  she's  dev 
ilish  stingy  of  her  words.  Only  five  pages. 
267  * 


An  American  in  New  York 

I  could  have  written  a  hundred  if  I  had  picked 
up  and  left  her  that  way.  Just  a  friendly 
sort  of  letter  with " 

"With  a  sly  whimper  here  and  there,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

"With  a  sigh,  dad." 

"Well,  what  more  do  you  want?  More 
sighs?  What  does  she  say?" 

"Oh,  she  and  her  aunt  are  at  their  country 
home  near  New  Haven,  she  doesn't  say  ex 
actly  where  it  is.  It  seems  that  the  old  lady 
» 

The  Colonel  fumed.  "Old  lady,  now  be 
careful,  sir.  There's  not  five  years  difference 
in  their  ages.  They  might  well  pass  for  sis 
ters — if  the  girl  were  handsomer,  sir." 

"Beg  your 'pardon,  dad.  No,  it's  a  fact, 
there  isn't  so  much  difference  in  their  ages. 
And  I'm  willing  to  grant  that  the  Widow  is 
handsomer." 

"All  right.    When  are  they  coming  back?" 
"I  don't  know — she  didn't  know." 
"Well,  when  you  write  tell  her  that  the  play 
is  getting  along  first-rate,  and  that  I  shall  ex 
pect  them  both  on  the  opening  night.     Did 
I  tell  you  that  the  theatre  has  been  grabbed 
up  by  my  agent?    It  has.    The  price  is  pretty 
268 


An  American  in  New  York 

steep,  but  that  makes  no  difference.  Skidder's 
man  is  getting  the  company  together  and  it 
won't  be  long  before  we  begin  rehearsing.  I 
have  hired  a  quick-stepping  fellow  as  a  press 
agent — knows  all  the  newspaper  men,  especial 
ly  the  big  ones,  eats  with  Hearst  and  Pulitzer 
every  day  or  so,  and  of  course  their  columns 
are  gaping  for  him.  He  needed  a  spring  over 
coat,  going  out  to  lunch  with  Bennett,  I  guess, 
and  I  put  up  for  him.  I  don't  know  wheth 
er  it's  Bennett's  custom  to  eat  in  his  overcoat 
or  not,  but  may  be  it  is.  Hasn't  had  anything 
printed  yet;  says  he's  waiting  for  a  big  spread 
on  Sunday.  Well,  he's  a  liar  at  any  rate,  and 
that  may  help  some."  For  a  time  he  sat  in 
serious  thought.  "Now  why  did  she  want  to 
pick  up  that  girl  and  take  her  away,  just  at 
this  time  ?  Ah,  women  pull  down  one  another 
with  their  whims.  Shall  we  stroll  on  back 
toward  the  hotel?" 


269 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

MISS  BAITH. 

Sammy  had  tried  hard  to  sit  by  and  to  take 
note  of  progress  on  the  dramatization  of  the 
Colonel's  romance,  but  the  strain  was  too 
much  for  his  "low"  state  of  health.  "Don't 
try  to  be  interested  in  it,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"Wander  off  somewhere  and  be  wretched  to 
the  full  craving  of  your  trouble-hunting  heart. 
If  all  other  resources  fail,  I'll  get  you  a  hand 
organ  charged  with  love-sighs  set  to  doleful 
tune  and  let  you  grind  them  out  to  swell  the 
volume  of  the  east  wind." 

"Dad,"  said  the  youth,  with  a  fall-of-the- 
year  expression  of  eye  and  countenance,  "I 
wouldn't  make  fun  of  you." 

"I  wish  you  would,  for  then  I  might  join 
in  with  you.  But  don't  let  anything  rope 
your  mind  and  haul  it  away  from  the  fact  that 
I'm  a  fool.  At  present  the  prospect  of  bring 
ing  out  the  play  is  a  brace,  but  when  that  is 
all  over  with  and  I  fall  back  on  myself,  I'll 
fall  hard." 

"A  rich  man  may  play  the  fool  for  his 
270 


An  American  in  New  York 

own  amusement,"  replied  Sammy.  "He  can 
always  lift  himself  out  of  a  difficulty  with  con 
templating  the  fact  that  he  is  rich.  Especial 
ly  is  this  true  of  men  who  have  been  poor  and 
then  become  rich,  either  by  luck  or  skill.  If 
you  play  the  fool  you  can  do  it  picturesquely. 
I  can't.  I'm  too  modern;  I'm  supposed  to 
look  business  whether  I  am  or  not.  As  soon 
as  you  are  tired  of  going  in  one  direction 
with  the  Widow,  you  can  turn  about,  taking 
her  with  you,  and  go  in  a  direction  opposite, 
or  tack,  or  do  as  you  please.  I'm  not  my 
own  sailor;  I  don't  know  how  to  manage  my 
boat,  and  I  drift  about  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  wind.  My  education  has  been  practical, 
but  I  fall  short  of  its  aims.  I — I  don't  know 
what  I  am,  and  I'm  becoming  so  accustomed 
to  my  own  whine  that  I  expect  it  of  myself. 
Why  the  deuce  doesn't  she  invite  me  to  visit 
her?  Why  in  thunder  doesn't  she  tell  me 
where  she  is?  Dad,  the  whole  thing  is  this: 
The  Widow  wants  to  punish  herself  by  stay 
ing  away  from  you,  and  it  makes  no  dif 
ference  to  her  how  many  others  may  suffer 
in  consequence." 

An  hour  later  while  the  Colonel  was  sit 
ting  in  his  room,  with  the  last  act  of  Click 
271 


An  American  in  New  York 

City  before  him,  but  with  the  picture  of  a 
woman  in  his  mind,  Sammy  came  bursting  in. 
uOh,  it's  all  right,"  he  cried,  violently  shak 
ing  his  fist,  a  piece  of  paper  crumpled  into 
it;  "all  right,  and  now  I  can  draw  a  breath 
as  long  as  a  suspension  bridge.  I  have  a  bid 
to  call — see  here?"  He  opened  his  hand, 
tenderly  took  the  piece  of  paper  and  affec 
tionately  began  to  smooth  it  out.  "Short, 
doesn't  say  much,  but  says  all.  Would  be 
so  much  pleased  to  see  me.  Isn't  that  pretty 
strong,  dad?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes;  couldn't  have  made  it  any 
stronger  unless  she  had  said,  'if  you  happen 
to  find  yourself  down  our  way,  drop  in.' 
That's  all  right,  Sam."  He  had  caught  the 
youth's  quick  fall  of  countenance.  "Of  course 
she  wants  to  see  you.  Of  course  you'll  go, 
and  of  course  you'll  come  away  engaged  to 
her.  Do  I  think  so?  I  know  it.  Cut  and 
dried  from  the  first,  plain  as  could  be,  no 
other  possible  outcome." 

"How  are  you  getting  along  with  the 
play?" 

"Oh,  did  you  know  we  had  a  play  on 
hand?  Keen  observation.  Perhaps  you  saw 
something  about  it  in  the  Sunday  papers. 
272 


An  American  in  New  York 

There  was  a  line  or  two  about  it.  My  press 
agent  managed  to  get  in  a  squib.  He  says 
the  papers  want  stories.  He  can  use  columns 
of  stories.  Hearst  and  Pulitzer  told  him  to 
bring  them  all  the  stories  he  could  dig  up. 
He  couldn't  dig  up  any.  He  wanted  me  to 
dig,  and  I  dug.  The  stories  were  printed  all 
right  enough,  except  they  failed  to  include 
any  mention  of  the  play.  But  we  are  getting 
along  very  well.  Skidder  is  a  wheel  horse, 
and  if  the  thing  isn't  a  go,  it  won't  be  his 
fault.  My  vanity  won't  be  hurt  much,  you 
know,  even  if  the  thing  should  be  a  failure. 
I  haven't  shoved  my  name  forward,  and  suf 
fering  in  disguise  is  only  half  suffering.  I 
knew  an  old  fellow  down  near  Hopkinsville 
who,  having  taken  the  pledge  at  home,  went 
over  to  a  strange  town,  registered  under  an 
assumed  name  and  got  on  a  spree.  Getting 
over  it  he  was  desperately  sick,  but  he 
laughed  to  think  that  no  one  knew  who  he 
was  and  thus  his  distress  was  cut  down  con 
siderably.  The  fact  is  I'm  thinking  more  of 
that  woman  than  of  the  play.  Since  she's 
gone  I've  found  that  the  spell  she  put  on  me 
is  stronger  than  I  had  thought  possible.  In 
a  way,  though,  it  tickles  me." 

273 


An  American  in  New  York 

Sammy  laughed,  a  melancholy  sort  of  coo. 
"Of  course  it  does  since  you  know  where 
you  stand,  but  if  it  were  all  speculation  as 
in  my  case  you'd  be  just  as  I  am,  in  the  air." 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head.  "No,  you 
haven't  struck  it.  It  has  proved  to  me  that 
my  heart  is  wholly  alive — and  I  thought  it 
could  never  live  again.  You  wouldn't  think 
it  untrue  to  Mary  Barksdale — to  you, 
Sammy,  if  I  should  say  that  in  a  somewhat 
different,  a  less  tremulous  manner,  I  love  this 
woman  just  as  fondly  as — as— 

Now  the  boy  laughed  genuinely  and  with 
a  loud  roar.  "Untrue  to  either  of  us?  Dad, 
what  a  scarecrow  to  the  blues  you  are.  Why, 
it  would  delight  me  to  know  that  you  loved 
some  one  even  more.  But  somehow  I  doubt 
it.  I  don't  believe  there's  but  one  grand 
passion." 

"Ha,  now  we  stand  on  bricks  baked  in 
the  ancient  sun.  Now  we  go  back  to  the 
arguments  of  pre-historic  hearts.  There  is 
but  one  youth,  that  is  true;  but  all  love  if  it  is 
to  endure,  no  matter  how  wild  and  passion 
ate,  must  settle  into  quiet  companionship. 
Forty-five  isn't  old,  but  the  man  who  at  that 
age  loves  impetuously  is  more  to  be  pitied 
274 


An  American  in  New  York 

than  congratulated.  It  is  the  fermenting  of 
new  wine  in  an  old  bottle.  Glorious  is  the 
youth  who  loves  too  well ;  happy  the  old  man 
who  loves  wisely." 

"But  do  you  love  wisely  when  the  object 
of  your  affections  thinks  you  are  married?" 

" Wisdom  is  never  complete.  Vanity  or 
some  sort  of  trickery  puts  an  alloy  into  it. 
But  this  deception  on  my  part  has  brought 
out  the  sweetest  companionship,  the  most  un 
selfish  generosity  on  her  part,  and  over  it  I 
gloat  fondly  and  congratulate  myself.  When 
are  you  going  to  start  for — the  infected  dis 
trict?" 

"Within  an  hour.  I'll  write  to  you  and 
you  can  apprise  me  of  the  date  set  for  your 
first  performance." 

"All  right,  go  ahead." 

After  shaking  hands  and  looking  glow- 
eyed  at  the  Colonel,  the  young  fellow  took 
his  leave,  and  the  American  went  back  into 
his  engaging  worry  over  the  play.  Now  that 
he  was  the  controlling  force  of  a  theatre, 
with  a  play  of  his  own  to  be  presented  for 
the  first  time,  he  did  not  feel  so  much  as 
if  he  were  in  a  foreign  land;  and  in  the  even 
ing,  in  the  mellowness  of  the  twilight,  he 
275 


An  American  in  New  York 

walked  down  past  his  possessions.  Some  of 
his  actors  were  in  front,  and  he  greeted  them 
as  members  of  his  family.  He  hoped  that 
the  ladies  were  well,  and  a  fat  fellow  to  play 
miner  in  a  red  shirt  and  boots  as  resplendent 
as  the  sun,  said  that  he  had  just  left  Miss 
Baith,  the  leading  lady,  and  that  she  was 
not  only  well  but  enthusiastic.  As  she  had 
been  engaged  only  that  morning  the  Colonel 
had  not  seen  her;  he  had  given  Skidder  full 
swing  and  was  not  to  question  his  judgment, 
but  he  felt  that  he  should  like  to  meet  his 
star  and  he  wondered  when  it  would  be  con 
venient  for  him  to  pay  her  a  call.  The  miner 
said  that  it  was  a  matter  of  immediate 
possibility  if  not  certainty.  She  was  in  a 
little  hotel  not  far  off.  He  would  lead  the 
way.  The  hotel  was  nearer  than  the  Colonel 
had  ventured  to  hope.  In  the  past  it  had 
housed  many  a  member  of  the  profession.  It 
was  old,  dingy,  ill-smelling;  there  was  no 
elevator,  and  Miss  Baith's  apartments  were 
on  the  third  floor.  There  was  no  formality 
of  card;  they  climbed  up  and  knocked  on  her 
door.  A  dog  barked.  The  door  was  opened 
a  few  inches  and  a  black  eye  surveyed  the 
narrow  hall.  The  miner  spoke  and  the  door 
276 


An  American  in  New  York 

was  opened.  The  Colonel,  when  presented, 
bowed  low.  Miss  Baith  acknowledged  the 
courtesy,  backed  into  the  room,  threw  a  cor 
set  behind  a  trunk  and  bade  the  Colonel  sit 
down.  The  dog  barked  furiously.  She  did 
not  appear  to  hear  him.  The  Colonel  said 
that  he  had  called — and  before  he  could  com 
plete  the  sentence  Miss  Baith  broke  in  with 
the  assurance  that  she  was  pleased  to  see 
him.  Then  she  added,  speaking  to  the  miner: 
uSit  over  on  the  trunk,  Ed." 

The  apartments  consisted  of  one  small 
room.  The  walls  were  smoky  and  scratched 
with  matches.  The  carpet  was  old.  One 
corner  of  the  dresser  rested  on  the  handle  of 
a  hair-brush.  The  Colonel  didn't  know  what 
to  talk  about  so  he  inquired  if  she  were  well. 
She  had  never  been  better.  "At  any  rate," 
he  mused,  "you  are  not  fat."  That  was 
something.  She  didn't  look  like  Mary 
Barksdale,  but  she  was  rather  handsome. 
That  was  something  more.  The  dog  left  off 
barking  and  began  to  play  with  the  stub  of 
a  cigarette. 

"Dog  smoke?"  the  Colonel  asked,  and 
Miss  Baith  laughed,  showing  good  dental 
277 


An  American  in  New  York 

work.  "We  are  all  so  hopeful  for  the  suc 
cess  of  your  play,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  it  won't  really  make  much  differ 
ence.  It  will  run  along  for  a  time  any  way." 

This  was  something  new.  Never  before 
had  she  heard  an  author  talk  in  that  strain. 
"But  success  means  so  much,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  when  mere  money  is  the  object." 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "but  in  this  case  it's 
glory.  Well,  it  means  a  great  deal  there, 
just  the  same." 

The  Colonel  acknowledged  that  without 
success  there  couldn't  be  very  much  of  glory, 
but  he  did  not  expect  that  sort  of  achievement. 
He  wanted  simply  to  see  the  play  performed, 
and  if  it  were  done  well,  his  reward  was 
sure.  The  parts  had  not  been  given  out  and 
she  could  not  tell  him  that  she  was  delighted 
with  his  work,  but  from  what  she  knew  of 
him,  from  what  she  saw  of  him  at  that  mo 
ment,  why,  she  didn't  fear  a  failure.  He 
thanked  her  and  wished  inwardly  that  she 
were  a  little  younger.  He  asked  her  if  she 
had  ever  played  East  Lynne.  She  couldn't 
remember.  Perhaps  she  had,  but  she  knew 
that  she  had  played  one  of  the  two  Orphans. 

"They  were  blind,  I  believe,"  said  he. 
278 


An  American  in  New  York 

"In  that  event  you  could  not  have  made  full 
use  of  those  marvelous  eyes." 

She  warmed  toward  him.  She  went  so  far 
as  to  request  the  dog  to  be  good;  and  when 
the  Colonel  arose  to  go,  she  put  out  her 
hand  and  declared  that  she  had  enjoyed 
his  visit  so  much.  When  they  were  clear  of 
the  house  the  Colonel  expected  that  the  miner 
would  ask  him  what  he  thought  of  her,  but 
he  didn't;  he  spoke  of  the  prospects  of  an 
early  spring,  and  hoped  that  it  might  not 
be  so  pronounced  in  its  keeping  of  promises 
as  to  send  people  into  the  parks  at  night. 


279 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER     XXII. 

NOT   A    WORD   ABOUT    HER. 

When  the  Colonel  entered  the  corridor  of 
the  hotel,  a  young  man  came  swiftly  forward 
to  meet  him,  and  not  until  after  the  shaking 
of  hands  and  the  exchange  of  many  words 
did  he  recognize  Dick  Johnson,  the  brother 
of  Imogene.  He  understood  that  the  Col 
onel  was  to  have  a  play  and  wanted  to  con 
gratulate  him  in  advance.  "Yes,"  said  the 
American,  "I've  just  come  from  a  visit  to 
my  leading  lady,  sir." 

"Good.  And  I  wish  to  repeat  my  con 
gratulations." 

uMay  be  too  early.  Have  you  been  in 
town  all  the  time?" 

"Yes,  and — er — I'm  most  unfortunately 
situated  to-night.  My  aunt  as  you  know  is 
not  in  town,  and  a  sudden  emergency  makes 
it  necessary  for  me  to  borrow  some  money 
— small  sum  for  a  few  days." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 
"What's  the  limit?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  I  didn't " 

280 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Didn't  pull  out.  Poker  money,  you 
know,  is  a  great  emergency.  Is  that  it?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is  that  a  party  of  us " 

"Yes,  I  understand,  and  I  don't  want  to 
deliver  a  lecture,  but,  my  boy,  you'd  better 
let  it  alone." 

"I  am  going  to  quit  after  to-night;  but  the 
fever  is  on  me  now;  was  frozen  out,  and  if 
you've  ever  played  you  know  what  that  is." 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  of  all  games  in  the 
world  it  is  the  worst  because  it  is  the  most 
fascinating.  And  unless  a  man  can  get  the 
poker  microbe  out  of  his  blood,  there  is  no 
hope  for  him  in  business.  It's  a  fact.  In 
order  to  succeed  in  any  business  you  must 
give  your  mind  to  it — your  best  thought; 
but  if  you  are  a  poker  player  you  can't  do 
that.  How  much  do  you  want?" 

"If  you  can  let  me  have  fifty,  I  can  in  a 
few  days " 

"Don't  make  any  promises.  Here  you 
are,  and  do  the  best  you  can." 

Johnson  thanked  him  and  almost  ran 
away,  fearing  that  the  game  might  be  broken 
up,  but  more  than  likely  they  were  waiting 
for  him.  They  nearly  always  are. 

Skidder  was  in  the  cafe,  and  he  looked 
281 


An  American  in  New  York 

tired  when  the  Colonel  drew  up  a  chair  to 
join  him.  He  said  that  the  parts  were  being 
copied  and  would  be  ready  on  the  following 
day.  The  Colonel  told  him  that  he  had 
called  on  Miss  Baith.  Skidder  wanted  to 
know  if  he  didn't  think  that  she  was  a 
"peach."  The  Colonel  said  that  he  was  not 
enough  of  a  horticulturist  to  classify  her. 
Skidder  shook  his  head  and  remarked  that 
she  was  a  devil  to  get  along  with  but  that 
she  could  act.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 
why  she  could  act. 

"Have  you  ever  acted  with  her?1'  the  Col 
onel  inquired,  and  Skidder  broke  bread  be 
fore  answering.  "Well,  yes,  think  I  have, 
in  scenes  a  trifle  more  realistic  than  she  is 
likely  to  give  us  in  Click  City.  She  used  to 
be  my  wife." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  but  that  was  several  seasons  ago, 
and  it  needn't  worry  you  any.  The  judge 
was  kind  to  both  of  us  and  granted  a  di 
vorce.  I  thought  she  ought  to  pay  me  ali 
mony,  but  there  was  a  difference  of  opinion. 
She  married  a  fellow  that  she  was  desperate 
ly  in  love  with  at  the  time,  but  I  understand 
that  they've  passed  each  other  up.  Haven't 
282 


An  American  in  New  York 

asked  her  about  him  lately,  as  I  am  inclined 
to  be  gentle  in  such  matters.*' 

"But,  sir,  won't  it  be  rather  embarrassing 
to  play  with  your  former  wife?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all.     She  understands." 

"Yes,  but  the  public  1" 

"Has  forgotten  all  about  both  of  us." 

"But  all  the  same  I  should  think  it  a 
rather  bad  state  of  affairs." 

"Oh,  well,  not  if  every  one's  satisfied.  In 
artistic  life  we  ought  to  forget  little  domes 
tic  foibles.  In  casting  about  for  the  proper 
one  to  play  the  part  I  thought  of  Miss  Baith, 
dropped  her  a  note,  met  her  for  the  first  time 
in  a  year  or  so  and  engaged  her;  and  you'll 
have  no  cause  to  regret  my  selection.  Won 
derful  nerve;  fine  emotion;  sympathetic  voice 
— charming  woman.  What  are  you  going  to 
order?  I'd  advise  one  of  these  English  mut 
ton  chops — excellent.  Little  addicted  to 
liquor  at  one  time,  during  her  trouble,  but  as 
that  is  past,  we  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"Do  you  think  that  fat  fellow's  all  right 
for  Jim  Stokes,  the  miner?" 

"Who,  Hather?  Capital;  would  have 
done  heavy  for  Otis  Skinner  one  season,  but 


283 


An  American  in  New  York 

"He's  fat  enough  for  a  part  as  heavy  as 
Falstaff." 

"Yes,  and  he's  versatile — has  taken  a 
whirl  at  opera;  was  tenor  once  for  Emma 
Abbott.  Don't  think  we'd  better  run  out  in 
to  the  country  and  try  it  on  the  dog,  do 
you?" 

"No,  we'll  try  it  on  the  poodle  right  here." 

The  Colonel  ordered  a  mutton  chop,  but 
told  the  waiter  to  see  that  it  was  American. 
Skidder  remarked  that  the  word  English 
meant  manner  rather  than  substance.  "All 
right,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "let  me  have 
American  manner."  After  a  short  silence 
the  author  of  Click  City  said  that  he  had 
been  thinking  of  the  peculiar  state  of  morals 
on  the  stage.  Skidder  looked  surprised.  In 
this  respect  he  did  not  know  that  the  stage 
was  so  very  different  from  other  professions, 
not  so  bad  as  the  office  building,  and  not 
much  worse  than  the  pulpit.  Some  of  the 
women  on  the  stage  were  just  as  true  wives 
and  just  as  devoted  mothers  as  any  women  in 
the  world  could  be.  Some  of  them  had  di 
vorces.  So  did  the  Vanderbilts.  Some  of 
them  associated  professionally  with  former 
husbands;  and  some  of  the  women  of  society 

284 


An  American  in  New  York 

re-married  their  former  husbands.  If  asso 
ciation  with  man  were  bad,  why  then  the 
churches  ought  to  separate  the  sexes.  There 
was  nothing  about  the  stage  to  demand  that 
virtue  must  be  surrendered.  Actors  and  act 
resses  were  more  or  less  familiar,  a  family; 
but  that  should  not  lead  to  evil.  The  Col 
onel  said  that  it  was  not  his  business  to  ele 
vate  the  stage.  He  had  simply  rented  one 
and  took  it  as  he  found  it,  with  splintered 
floor  and  in  need  of  sweeping.  Skidder 
thought  that  this  was  good  and  laughed  at  it. 
After  dinner  work  was  resumed  in  Skid- 
der's  room.  On  the  part  of  the  actor-dram 
atist  there  was  no  disposition  to  shirk  even 
the  most  minute  or  laborious  detail.  It  was 
after  midnight  when  they  parted.  The  next 
day  was  to  witness  the  beginning  of  rehear 
sals,  to  see  what  would  come  forth,  the  unex 
pected  kinks,  supposed  action  turned  to 
halts,  bright  lines  blurred,  obscurities  made 
strangely  clear;  but  when  the  Colonel  went 
to  his  room  he  thought  not  of  the  play  but 
of  the  Widow.  He  conceived  a  plan  of  writ 
ing  to  her,  and  with  his  stub  pen  he  cov 
ered  many  sheets  of  paper  and  then  read  the 
product  aloud,  but  the  message  was  too  much 

285 


An  American  in  New  York 

like  a  memorial  and  he  destroyed  it.  Then 
he  took  from  his  pocket  a  note  which  he  had 
received  that  day  from  a  detective  and  read 
it.  Sim  Groggin,  the  man  upon  whom  it  was 
his  prayer  that  he  might  feast  the  eyes  of 
never  dying  hate,  had  been  lately  seen  in 
New  York  and  was  no  doubt  still  in  the  city. 
Perhaps  the  name  of  the  play  would  attract 
him  to  the  theatre.  The  Colonel  desired 
that  he  above  all  others  should  see  the  per 
formance,  the  outward  expression  of  a  long- 
hidden  vengeance.  In  the  play  the  villain  is 
not  forgiven.  He  is  not  permitted  to  shoot 
himself,  but  about  his  neck  a  rope  is  tied 
and  he  is  led  up  the  trail,  toward  the  camp 
higher  among  the  mountains.  Suddenly  he 
breaks  away,  and  with  his  hands  tied  be 
hind  him  and  with  the  rope  trailing  behind, 
he  struggles  to  escape.  Naturally  he  does 
not  want  to  be  hanged;  he  would  much  rath 
er  be  shot.  But  the  men  refuse  to  shoot. 
They  let  him  run.  He  comes  to  the  edge 
of  a  precipice — leaps,  and  the  rope  catches 
and  hangs  him.  The  men  stand  looking  at 
his  struggles.  Slowly  he  is  strangling.  Down 
below  there  is  a  den  of  wolves.  They  see 
the  wretch  suspended  far  above  them  and 
286 


An  American  in  New  York 

begin  to  howl  for  him.  He  ceases  to  strug 
gle.  The  men  shoot  the  rope  in  two  and 
down  he  falls,  into  the  jaws  of  the  wolves. 
The  Colonel  had  inquired  of  Skidder  if  he 
did  not  regard  that  scene  as  one  of  the  most 
dramatic  in  the  history  of  the  modern  drama, 
and  the  actor  answered  that  it  was  at  least 
one  of  the  most  fatal. 

"Sim  Groggin,  should  he  be  present,  must 
recognize  himself  in  the  villain.  Will  fate 
— God,  be  kind  enough  to  send  him  to  the 
theatre?"  the  Colonel  mused. 

Rehearsal  was  called  early,  for  nine 
o'clock,  and  not  even  was  the  leading  lady 
late.  She  shook  hands  with  the  Colonel, 
nodded  blythely  to  Skidder  and  then  looked 
about  for  the  dog.  The  Colonel  expected 
that  at  once  he  was  to  be  placed  on  a  van 
tage  ground  when  he  could  command  a  full 
and  altogether  a  new  view  of  his  play,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  see  except  actors  and 
actresses  looking  over  bits  of  paper,  and 
nothing  to  hear  except  an  occasional  hand 
clap,  on  the  part  of  Skidder,  to  attract  at 
tention, — an  occasional  mumbling,  here,  there, 
off  in  a  corner, — the  first  sign  that  the 
play  was  to  be  acted.  How  much  alive  a 

287 


An  American  in  New  York 

sketch  may  be  as  literature  and  yet  how  dead 
as  a  dramatic  possibility!  Literature  is  per 
mitted  to  dream;  in  a  paragraph  there  may 
be  a  restful  vision,  a  borderless  landscape. 
But  the  drama,  even  in  its  apparent  restful- 
ness,  must  walk.  It  must  jump  to  show  how 
still  it  can  be. 

The  Colonel  did  not  remain  long  at  the 
threshold  of  the  initial  rehearsal.  He  went 
out  of  the  theatre,  into  the  raw  salt  air  of  a 
spring  that  had  suddenly  turned  to  look  back 
ward,  forgot  the  play,  held  to  his  heart  a 
vision  of  the  Widow  and  slowly  wandered 
back  to  the  hotel.  In  the  corridor  a  young 
man  spoke  to  him.  "You  don't  remember 
me,"  and  the  American  said  that  he  did  not. 
"I  am  the  waiter  that  told  you  his  little  boy 
was  sick.'1 

"Oh,  yes,  yes.  How  are  you?  And  the 
little  fellow,  I  hope " 

"He's  all  right,  I  thank  you,  sir.  I  didn't 
suppose  you'd  know  me.  I'm  not  working 
to-day,  and  I've  noticed  that  when  a  waiter 
gets  off  his  rig  and  into  the  clothes  common 
to  other  men,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  rec 
ognize  him." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  And  the  little  fellow 
288 


An  American  in  New  York 

is  all  right.  Don't  forget  to  carry  out  the 
other  part  of  the  agreement,  that  is,  to  have 
the  bills  sent  to  me." 

"The  bill  didn't  amount  to  anything,  and 
it's  paid.  I  have  wondered,  sir,  if  I  couldn't 
do  better  in  the  West  than  here.  I  am  a 
man  of  some  education,  but  here  I  have  no 
show  at  all." 

"Why  don't  you  try  the  Puget  Sound 
country?  There  is  the  coming  empire.  Go 
out  there  and  after  a  while  build  you  a  ho 
tel.  Whenever  you  decide  to  go  West,  let 
me  know  and  I  may  have  an  opportunity  to 
help  you." 

The  Colonel  expected  that  this  was  to  end 
the  conversation,  but  the  young  man  showed 
a  disposition  to  say  more.  The  Colonel 
waited.  "I  hear  you  are  about  to  bring  out 
a  play." 

uYes,  we  are  rolling  one  up  the  skids." 

uSaw  something  about  it  in  the  paper." 

"That  so?  Your  microscope  must  be  a 
little  stronger  than  mine." 

"And  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  young 
man,  moving  uneasily  and  looking  down, 
"that  you  might  give  me  a  chance." 

"Have  you  ever  been  on  the  stage?" 
289 


An  American  in  New  York 

"No,  sir,  but  I  know  a  good  deal  about  it, 
in  one  way  and  another;  have  waited  on  a 
great  many  actors  and  have  heard  them 
talk." 

uYes,  but  unless  you  want  a  divorce  from 
your  wife,  let  the  stage  alone.  Don't  run 
the  risk  of  even  writing  a  play.  Well,  I 
must  be  moving  on.  Let  me  know  about 
the  time  you  are  ready  to  start  West." 

In  the  full  belief  that  his  warning  against 
the  stage  had  robbed  some  divorce  court  law 
yer  of  an  ultimate  client,  the  Colonel  strode 
slowly  to  the  office,  to  get  his  mail,  and  among 
the  letters  was  one  from  Sammy.  Passing  all 
other  matters,  he  broke  the  seal  of  the  youth's 
message,  sat  down  and  read  these  lines: 

"We  are  engaged.  She  accepted  me  in  the 
belief  that  I  am  without  money.  Isn't  that 
a  beautiful  self-sacrifice?  The  man  and  the 
heartless  newspaper  writer  that  constantly 
jibes  at  woman  for  her  frailty  and  especially 
her  alleged  disposition  to  be  mercenary  ought 
to  be  scourged  out  of  this  country.  Unless 
we  look  into  the  temple  how  do  we  know 
anything  of  the  beauties  within?  Unless  we 
can  go  into  the  room  how  are  we  to  know 
anything  about  the  soft  glow  of  the  lamp, 
filled  with  perfumed  oil?  I  have  looked  into 

290 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  temple;  I  have  sat  in  the  glow  of  the 
lamp,  and  I  know  that  Imogene  is  a  goddess. 
Brave!  She  wasn't  at  all  excited  or  fright 
ened  when  I  asked  her  to  be  mine.  We  were 
walking  along  the  country  road  and  halted 
beneath  a  tree,  to  look  upward  at  its  fleshless 
fingers  between  us  and  the  cool  moon.  All 
day  I  had  been  striving  for  the  promontory 
of  boldness,  and  finally  I  landed  there  with 
courage  beneath  the  tree.  Gilded  moon-dust 
seemed  to  fall  out  of  her  hair.  And  before 
I  knew  it  her  head  was  on  my  shoulder  and 
my  words  came  like  hastening  driftwood  on 
the  tide  of  a  mill-dam  broken  loose.  But  you 
know  how  it  was.  I  don't  believe  in  long 
engagements,  neither  does  she,  and  our  af 
fairs  will  be  settled  in  pretty  short  order,  I 
tell  you.  She  says  that  she  would  marry 
me  if  I  were  a  digger  of  ditches.  Could 
there  be  anything  more  noble  than  that?  She 
is  willing  to  live  anywhere,  to  do  anything 
for  my  advancement.  Her  brother  Dick  has 
just  written  to  her,  telling  her  that  he  has 
a  fine  place  to  put  what  little  money  she  has, 
only  a  few  hundred,  I  suppose;  but  I  told 
her  to  consult  you  before  making  investments. 
She  says  that  Dick  is  a  fine  business  man, 
only  he  hasn't  as  yet  had  a  chance.  Don't 
forget  to  tell  me  of  the  date  set  for  your  first 
performance.  Imogene,  who  knows  a  great 
deal  about  plays,  thinks  that  yours  will  sure- 

291 


An  American  in  New  York 

ly  be  a   success.     I   suppose  the   rehearsals 
are  going  on  all  right.     I  may  draw  on  you 


soon." 


The  Colonel  sat  for  a  long  time,  musing; 
and  the  summing  up  of  his  conclusions  was: 
"The  puppy  didn't  say  a  word  about  her/' 


292 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  COMING  OF  THE   HOUR. 

As  the  days  passed,  the  author  of  Click 
City  was  impressed  with  the  semblance  of 
dramatic  form  emerging  from  the  chaos  of 
mutterings.  Nearly  every  one  was  letter  per 
fect,  and  now  the  effort  was  not  only  to  suit 
the  action,  but  to  mingle  the  action  with  the 
word.  With  the  manner  in  which  Skidder 
threw  himself  into  the  atmosphere  and 
caught  the  spirit  of  the  hero,  the  Colonel  was 
delighted.  "Fgad,  sir,"  he  said,  "you  spoke 
that  just  as  if  you  thought  it  was  a  fact  and 
would  knock  a  man  down  for  insinuating  that 
it  was  a  lie."  He  soon  discovered  that  no 
mistake  was  made  when  to  Miss  Baith  was 
assigned  a  vital  part.  She  was  tender  and 
sympathetic;  her  voice  was  so  sweet  that  he 
wondered  how  it  ever  could  have  served  as 
vehicle  for  a  cross  word.  With  the  miner 
he  would  have  been  better  pleased  if  exces 
sive  flesh  had  not  impelled  on  his  part  such 
wheezings  and  wobblings.  Of  course  a  man 
could  be  burdened  with  flesh,  at  first,  but 

293 


An  American  in  New  York 

not  for  long,  in  the  mountains,  where  double 
chins  fade  away  like  spring  snowdrifts  among 
the  foot-hills. 

Work  on  the  scenery  progressed  with  as 
tonishing  rapidity.  It  required  but  a  souse 
and  a  jerk  to  slap  upon  canvas  a  towering 
rock,  brown  and  seamed  with  age.  To  kick 
a  bucket  of  white  paint  off  the  ladder  was 
a  snow-covered  peak.  It  appeared  to  the 
man  who  was  paying  for  it  all  that  the  paint 
ers  were  hastening  through  the  job,  but  when 
a  scene  as  a  whole  had  been  viewed  from 
the  front,  he  swore  that  Dore  could  not  have 
done  better,  and  there  are  critics  who  are  no 
doubt  willing  to  share  his  opinion. 

A  pretty  slip  of  a  girl  whose  duty  in  the 
play  it  was  to  carry  a  message  to  the  mines 
and  to  come  near  offering  a  meal  to  a  griz 
zly  bear,  inquired  of  the  Colonel  if  he  were 
not  horribly  afraid  of  the  opening  night.  He 
felt  disposed  to  give  to  her  a  piece  of  money 
and  to  tell  her  to  run  along  now,  but  he  an 
swered  that  he  had  not  thought  of  being 
frightened,  "for  the  reason  that  there  is  no 
especial  cause,"  he  laughingly  added.  "I  un 
derstand  that  the  people  of  this  town  don't 
make  a  practice  of  toting  guns."  She  smiled 
294 


An  American  in  New  York 

up  at  him  and  he  smiled  down  at  her.  "Is 
this  to  be  your  first  appearance  on  the  stage, 
little  one?"  he  inquired. 

uOh,  no.  I  was,  you  might  say,  born 
on  the  stage  and  so  was  my  daughter." 

"Your  daughter!" 

"Yes,  she  was  out  with  Julia  Marlowe  this 
last  season." 

"You  don't  tell  me.  Er — not  as  the  nurse 
in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  I  hope.  Huh,  you 
folks  are  a  strange  lot.  Your  husband  liv 
ing — Miss?" 

"Which  one?" 

"Oh,  any  of  them;  it  makes  no  particular 
difference." 

"Mr.  Mecklin  is  living — my  late  hus 
band." 

"Oh,  late  husband  is  living.  Good  enough. 
Is  he  on  the  stage?" 

"Well,  not  actively  at  present;  but  last 
season  he  was  bones  in  a  minstrel  company, 
quite  active,  too,  for  his  age.  He  has  laid 
away  many  a  one  of  his  co-workers." 

"Yes,  laying  bones  with  bones.  How  do 
you  like  your  part  in  this  play?" 

"Oh,  it's  only  a  bit,  you  know,"  she  an- 
295 


An  American  in  Nevv  York 

swered,  smiling  rather  sadly,  for  all  bits,  no 
matter  how  lively,  are  melancholy. 

UA  bit,  eh?  Well,  we  can  have  you  caught 
by  the  grizzly  and  make  it  a  bite."  And  he 
walked  away,  musing:  uHer  daughter.  I'll 
swear  to  the  Lord  they  beat  anything  I  ever 


saw." 


Such  progress  was  made,  the  most  of  the 
company  being  eager  after  a  long  season  of 
enforced  rest,  that  the  date  for  the  opening 
was  set  for  the  26th  of  April,  at  least  two 
weeks  earlier  than  at  first  might  have  been 
thought  possible.  The  press  agent  wanted 
a  photograph  of  the  Colonel,  to  print  along 
with  a  story,  but  this  the  American  refused. 
"For  reasons  of  my  own,"  said  he,  "there 
must  be  no  picture  of  me.  Now,  don't  insist; 
it  must  not  be — no  picture." 

"I  can  get  in  pictures  of  the  most  of  the 
company  and " 

"Then  put  them  in;  I  must  be  left  out,  and 
if  any  of  these  drawers  for  comic  almanacs 
try  to  sketch  me,  they  shall  be  held  responsi 
ble,  not  in  a  court,  sir,  but  to  me  personally." 

The   Colonel's    hotel    acquaintances,    the 
Doctor  and  the  Judge,   pressed  their    con 
gratulations  upon  him;  they  knew  that  his 
296 


An  American  in  New  York 

play  would  be  a  go ;  they  accepted  tickets  and 
went  away,  sneering  at  his  presumption. 
Every  first  play,  every  first  book,  every  first 
anything  is  a  secret  affront  to  those  who  have 
not  tried,  and  a  deadly  insult  to  those  who 
have  failed.  Let  him  fail  and  be  humble. 
In  the  eye  the  joyous  light  of  success  may  at 
first  be  kindly,  but  soon  it  becomes  a  cold 
stare.  Let  us  do  all  we  can  to  prevent 
achievement,  and  if  our  efforts  fail,  why  then 
we  may  turn  with  the  applauding  tide. 

From  Sammy  there  came  another  letter  in 
answer  to  the  Colonel's  message  of  congratu 
lation.  "Everything  here  is  as  lovely  as  heart 
could  wish,"  he  wrote.  uThe  weather  is  per 
fect,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge.  You  scored 
me  for  not  having  mentioned  Aunt  Mag.  I 
deserved  it,  for  she  is  the  best — well,  one  of 
the  best  women  that  ever  lived.  There  is  no 
end  to  her  kindness.  The  people  who  live  in 
the  neighborhood  of  her  country  home  all 
love  her;  and  the  village  storekeepers  clap 
their  hands  when  they  know  she  is  coming, 
for  it  means  the  buying  of  things  for  the  poor. 
Since  I  came  she  has  clothed  a  score  of  needy 
children.  But  to  a  marked  degree  she  has 
lost  the  bright  gayety  of  manner  which  they 
297 


An  American  in  New  York 

say  was  once  so  pronounced  a  feature  of  her 
nature.  All  day  and  sometimes  until  late  at 
night  she  sits  by  the  window,  looking  out  upon 
the  water,  dreaming.  I  won't  flatter  you  by 
saying  that  she  must  be  dreaming  of  you,  dad. 
Perhaps  not,  for  she  rarely  speaks  of  you. 
Yesterday  she  indulged  in  a  bit  of  drollery, 
and  for  the  first  time  within  several  days.  A 
woman  visitor  made  use  of  that  old  saw,  'as 
good  fish  in  the  sea  as  were  ever  caught,'  and 
Aunt  Mag  replied  that  it  might  be  true,  but 
that  the  bait  was  not  so  good  now  as  former 
ly.  Was  that  bright?  I'm  such  a  fool  now 
that  I  couldn't  pass  on  anything.  We'll  be 
down  for  the  opening — sure.  Aunt  Mag  says 
that  we'll  go  straight  from  the  train  to  the 
theater  and  not  worry  you  with  our  company 
at  the  time  of  your  sore  distress.  Then  we'll 
go  somewhere  to  dinner.  It  seems  to  me  that 
you  must  be  going  to  meet  Imogene  for  the 
first  time.  There  never  was  a  more  affection 
ate  girl — but  I'm  constantly  startled,  not  to 
say  just  a  little  frightened,  at  her  wisdom. 
She  can  repeat  page  after  page  from  Tenny 
son's  Princess.  Dick  has  just  left  us.  Hav 
ing  invested  in  some  sort  of  company,  he  is 
very  busy  of  late.  He's  a  fine  chap,  dad,  and 
298 


An  American  in  New  York 

I  was  glad  to  let  him  have  fifty  dollars  to  help 
him  out  of  a  temporary  tight  place.  When  I 
think  of  how  much  I  have  to  be  thankful  for 
I'm  almost  afraid  that  it  is  all  a  dream.  But 
you're  no  dream,  dad,  and  the  Lord  knows 
I'm  thankful  for  you." 

One  evening  the  Colonel  left  the  theater 
with  these  words  of  Skidder's  rumbling  in  his 
ears:  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  have  done 
all  we  can  possibly  do  until  to-morrow  night. 
It  is  now  up  to  each  one  of  us  individually." 

Until  this  evening  the  opening  night  had 
been  to  the  actors  a  sort  of  speculative  vision, 
hanging  mist-like  in  the  future,  perhaps  not 
to  be  materialized,  but  now  it  was  a  fact,  a 
responsibility  to  be  faced;  and  no  actor  is  so 
hardened  as  not  to  feel  the  tremulous  heavi 
ness  of  a  first  night.  He  may  be  a  child  in  a 
playhouse;  he  may  be  whimsical,  fretful, 
peevish;  but  in  his  work  no  moralist  could  be 
more  conscientious. 

In  the  matter  of  paper  as  in  every  other 
line,  no  expense  had  been  spared,  and  the 
town  was  extensively  billed  with  the  return 
of  "New  York's  old  favorite,  Mr.  Joseph 
Aukwell  Skidder,  fresh  from  new  achieve 
ments  abroad."  It  was  rather  late  in  the  sea- 
299 


An  American  in  New  York 

son,  but  with  liberal  "papering"  by  the  press 
agent  the  Colonel  was  assured  of  a  large  if 
not  an  enthusiastic  audience.  But  he  began 
to  grow  just  a  little  nervous.  Nervousness 
was  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  stage  and  he  had 
breathed  his  part  of  it. 

The  day  broke  rainy,  but  along  toward 
noon  the  sun  shot  its  arrows  through  the 
leaden  shield.  This  was  a  good  omen,  and 
besides,  the  author,  looking  over  his  right 
shoulder,  observed  a  growing  moon.  In  the 
corridor  a  bell  boy  asked  him  if  he  were  going 
to  open  a  show. 

uYes,  my  son,  to-night." 

"Is  it  a  Buffalo  Bill  show,  sir?" 

The  Colonel  glowered  at  him.  "No,  an 
exhibition  of  health  foods." 

A  chambermaid,  overhearing  him,  said  that 
she  would  like  to  go  and  take  her  sister,  who 
was  a  cook.  The  author  went  to  his  room  and 
sat  down  to  look  up  the  work  of  his  press 
agent,  in  the  afternoon  papers.  There  was  a 
picture  of  Skidder,  leaning  against  an  indis 
tinguishable  something,  one  of  his  foreign 
achievements,  perhaps,  together  with  a  strik 
ing  bit  of  art  portraying  Miss  Baith  on  horse 
back.  A  paragraph  offered  the  information 
300 


An  American  in  New  York 

that  some  of  the  lines  were  bright  and  many 
of  the  situations  thrilling.  He  went  out  to 
dinner,  but  with  him  the  author  took  no  ap 
petite,  and  after  a  cup  of  coffee,  he  strolled 
out  to  cool  his  brow  with  the  gusty  breath  of 
the  night.  He  met  Dick  Johnson,  and  he 
wondered  why  the  man  always  seemed  to  him 
but  little  more  than  a  shadow.  "Ah,  this  is 
the  night,"  said  Dick.  "My  sister,  my  aunt 
and  your  son  will  be  down,  I  understand." 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  so." 

"Afraid  so?" 

"That's  what  I  mean.  The  fewer  of  my 
friends  present  the  better.  I  didn't  believe 
that  it  could  get  in  on  my  nerves,  but  it  has. 
Now  a  man  can  have  a  book  brought  out  and 
snort  in  secret,  but  with  this  sort  of  thing  he's 
hung  up  to  full  view.  How  are  you  getting 
along  with  your — your  investments?" 

"Investments?  Oh,  poker?  I've  passed  it 
up.  It's  just  as  you  said.  There's  no  possi 
ble  chance  for  a  man.  Do  you  know  what 
train  they  are  coming  on?  I'd  like  to  see  my 
aunt  for  a  few  moments  before  the  play  be 
gins.  Sorry  I  can't  be  there,  but  I've  got  an 
engagement." 

"Same  limit?" 

301 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Oh,  it's  not  that,  Colonel;  I  assure  you  it 
is  not  that.  Let  me  see.  I  owe  you  fifty, 
don't  I?" 

"Yes,  and  I'll  make  it  seventy-five  if  you'll 
keep  your  engagement  and  stay  away  from 
the  play." 

"Why — er — I  don't  like  to  be  bought  up 
in  that  way,  Colonel;  but  of  course  I  won't 
go  if  you  don't  want  me  to.  Let  me  see.  I 
can  return  the  seventy-five  in  a  day  or  two." 

The  Colonel  gave  him  twenty-five  dollars, 
and  he  hastened  away  with  foolish  hope  in 
his  heart,  eager,  and  with  no  shame  in  his 
mind.  Poker,  the  American  game — the 
American  beast,  blunts  all  sense  of  humilia 
tion. 

"Above  the  door  of  my  Delphic  temple  I 
thought  I'd  written  'know  thyself,'  "  mused 
the  Colonel  as  slowly  he  walked  along,  hav 
ing  already  forgotten  the  young  man,  "but  I 
didn't  write  it  there.  If  I  did,  some  one  has 
come  along  and  rubbed  it  out.  All  along  I 
have  thought  that  it  would  make  no  difference 
whether  this  thing  were  a  failure  or  a  suc 
cess,  but  now,  face  to  face  with  one  or  the 
302 


An  American  in  New  York 

other — with  almost  certain  failure,  I  find  that 
it  does  make  a  difference.  What  will  that 
woman  think  of  me  if  I  fail?  Woman  re 
spects  man  for  what  man  achieves.  She  may 
commiserate  a  failure,  but  she  cannot  love  it. 
She  thinks  I'm  strong,  but  strength  means 
success.  Reckon  I  was  a  fool  to  go  into  it. 
But  if  he  comes  to  see  it — yes,  that  will  be 
more  than  worth  all  the  trouble."  He  walked 
along  bareheaded.  "She  sits  and  dreams,  the 
youngster  says.  I  wonder  if  she  does  dream 
of  me.  I  dream  of  her,  and  I  wonder — all 
the  time  wonder  if  she  is  the  woman  for  me, 
if  she  would  be  my  wife!  But  how  am  I  to 
find  out  if  I  don't  ask  her,  and  how  am  I  ever 
to  summon  will  enough  if  this  play  should 
fail?  To  see  a  vanity  conquer  may  charm  a 
woman,  but  to  see  it  conquered  disgusts  her. 
I  wonder  if  I  haven't  philosophized  about 
enough  over  her,  and  over  everything  else, 
for  that  matter.  How  sure  a  sign  of  the  com 
ing  on  of  age — such  profitless  moralizing. 
Let's  see  what  time  it's  getting  to  be." 

Upon  the  dial  of  his  watch  he  caught  the 
light  of  a  street  lamp.    It  dazzled — the  hour 

303 


An  American  in  New  York 

dodged  and  the  minutes  danced.  A  clock,  a 
sullen  bell  somewhere  on  the  sea  of  billowing 
time,  began  to  strike— eight.  The  hour  for 
the  trial  had  come,  the  seating  of  the  jury; 
and  with  feverishness  in  waves  breaking  over 
him,  he  turned  toward  the  theater. 


304 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

DIDN'T  WANT  TO  BE  CONGRATULATED. 

The  jury  was  going  in.  What  did  those 
women  know  about  life  in  the  West?  What 
knew  the  men,  and  what  cared  any  of  them 
for  phases  of  American  life  other  than  the 
sort  shamelessly  exaggerated  for  the  amuse 
ment  of  ultra  taste?  For  what  life  did  they 
care  except  for  that  evolved  out  of  their  own 
narrow  environment  or  out  of  the  "chronicled 
small  beer"  of  the  foreigner  who  despised 
America  ?  The  appropriateness  of  his  sitting 
in  a  box  was  suggested  to  him  by  the  press 
agent,  but  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of 
such  publicity.  He  did  not  realize  that  he 
might  sit  there  all  night  and  that  no  one 
would  necessarily  associate  him  with  the  play. 
Self-consciousness  ever  feels  that  it  has  hung 
out  a  glaring  sign.  He  did  not  sit  at  all,  but 
walked  about  slowly,  in  the  lobby,  in  front  of 
the  house — anywhere,  wishing  that  it  were 
all  done  with,  that  he  were  on  a  train,  going 
West.  Suddenly  the  orchestra  broke  out  like 
a  rash,  into  a  red  blare,  and  then  came  the 

305 


An  American  in  New  York 

whining  of  the  fiddles  as  if  everything  that 
had  thus  far  been  done  proved  cause  for  re 
gret.  From  what  heart-broken  wretch  did 
the  fellow  with  the  trombone  learn  that 
stretching  groan?  What  squawking  parrot 
set  the  pitch  for  that  rasping  raw-hide  called 
a  "chello"?  Such  wailings  and  such  cries 
could  but  foretell  disaster.  How  indifferent 
everyone  was;  how  young  men  and  young 
women  blabbed  and  gabbed.  Didn't  they 
know  that  something  was  about  to  take  place  ? 
And  that  something?  Ah,  a  failure,  and  why 
not  have  enough  of  heart  to  treat  it  with  less 
glibness?  That  old  fellow  down  there  in  an 
aisle  seat,  cane,  white  silk  thing  about  his 
neck — he  knew  that  there  was  to  be  sorrow 
for  some  one  and  seemed  pleased  at  the  pros 
pect.  Had  he  gone  to  a  morgue  to  rehearse 
that  cough?  Near  him  was  a  fat  woman, 
talking  about  the  illness  of  her  dog.  Damn 
the  dog  and  her,  too.  Why  did  she  come? 
Why  didn't  she  go  to  a  cat  and  dog  hospital 
and  feel  at  home  ?  That  foreigner,  gibbering 
in  some  scroll-saw  tongue !  Well,  it  would 
soon  be  time  to  knock  him  down  and  drag  him 
out.  It  was  the  infernal  orchestra  that  so 
set  everything  upon  the  sharp  edge.  Would 
306 


An  American  in  New  York 

it  never  leave  off  its  whinings  and  groanings? 
Was  that  tune  marked  out  by  a  pair  of  com 
passes,  continuously  to  go  round  and  round? 
Yes,  it  could  quit.  Suddenly  it  hushed  its 
whining  over  its  numerous  diseases,  and  the 
curtain  slowly  rose,  but  why  that  barber-shop 
scrape,  as  it  went  up?  The  play  began,  but 
indistinctly,  for  the  audience  was  talking. 
And  that  woman,  that  one  there  with  the  pale, 
sleepy-looking  degenerate  whose  breast  was 
as  thin  as  a  washboard,  did  she  come  to  the 
theater  to  arrange  her  hair?  Why  didn't  the 
actors  talk  louder?  Was  it  understood  that 
the  thing  should  be  played  confidentially? 
Such  coughing  throughout  the  house !  Were 
all  New  York  theater-goers  consumptive? 
That  fat  miner,  puffing  his  lines !  About  how 
long  would  it  take  him  to  drop  dead? 

In  a  box  sat  the  Widow,  Imogene  and 
Sammy.  The  Colonel  wondered  how  they 
could  have  got  into  the  house  without  his  hav 
ing  seen  them — and  didn't  that  young  scoun 
drel  have  respect  enough  not  to  talk  to  the 
girl,  now,  at  this  critical  time?  The  Widow 
seemed  weary,  or  sad,  but  so  refined  was  her 
face,  so  gentle  her  manner  that  to  look  at  her 
was  a  peace  and  a  rest,  an  inspiration.  Skid- 

307 


An  American  in  New  York 

der!  Why  did  not  the  clapping  of  hands 
welcome  the  return  of  "New  York's  old 
favorite?"  Had  he  forgotten  his  lines? 
What  was  the  matter  with  him? 

Suddenly  the  Colonel  forgot  the  play,  the 
actors — the  Widow.  Off  to  the  right  stood  a 
man,  leaning  on  the  railing.  Closer  toward 
him  the  Colonel  moved,  gazing  intently.  The 
man  turned  his  face  fuller  toward  him.  Was 
it  Sim  Groggin?  Closer — the  man  wheeled 
about  and  almost  shot  through  the  door,  the 
Colonel  racing  after  him.  Down  the  steps  in 
front,  down  at  a  bound.  The  man  was  run 
ning.  The  Colonel  shouted  at  him;  he  ran 
across  the  street,  the  Colonel  in  pursuit,  call 
ing  upon  him  to  stop;  but  he  dodged  in  among 
the  passers-by,  and  so  he  was  lost.  But  the 
hunt  was  not  given  up,  and  now  the  Ameri 
can  turned  from  street  to  street,  from  hotel  to 
hotel,  looking  eagerly  about  him,  but  not 
knowing  whither  he  went.  After  a  long  time 
he  looked  up  and  there  was  Daly's,  with  the 
people  pouring  out.  As  he  pushed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  he  caught  the  words,  here 
and  there:  "Won't  go;"  "failure;"  "noth 
ing  to  it;"  "who  is  Skidder?"  He  was  glad 
to  get  out  from  among  those  nettles.  He 
308 


An  American  in  New  York 

would  have  liked  to  tread  them  deep  into  the 
earth.  A  bit  of  slang  came  to  him:  uMake 
'em  like  it."  "I  will,"  he  mused.  'Til  make 
them  open  their  mouths  and  stretch  their 
necks  for  it  like  young  mocking  birds."  But 
how  well  he  knew  the  lameness  of  the  threat. 
Slowly  he  walked  toward  the  hotel,  not  dis 
appointed,  for  he  had  reconciled  himself  to 
failure,  and  besides  his  main  object  had  been 
attained;  that  wolf  had  seen  it,  not  all,  but 
had  seen  enough  to  know  that  he  and  his 
treachery  were  to  be  pictured.  Yet  he  was 
angered  because  the  out-pouring  crowd  had 
seemed  not  indeed  to  gloat  over  his  defeat, 
but  to  yawn  over  it. 

Upon  entering  the  hotel  he  would  have 
gone  at  once  to  his  room  to  hide  himself,  and 
to  feast  his  mind  with  hating  the  man  whom 
he  had  followed,  whose  throat  he  felt  that  he 
should  like  preyfully  to  cut,  but  Sammy  came 
hastening  to  meet  him — said  that  the  ladies 
were  in  the  Turkish  room,  that  they  were 
anxious  to  see  him,  to  congratulate  him. 

"None  of  that,"  replied  the  Colonel. 
"Don't  go  too  far  with  me,  Sam." 

"Why,  dad,  what's  the  matter  with  you? 
Didn't  you  see  your  play?  Don't  you  know 

309 


An  American  in  New  York 

it  went  all  right?"  Affectionately  he  took  the 
Colonel's  arm,  and  so  warm  he  seemed  after 
the  cold  heartlessness  of  the  show  house,  so 
genuine,  that  the  American  hugged  him  close, 
said  that  he  was  glad  to  have  him  back  again. 
Imogene  came  forward  with  "dad"  on  her 
lips,  and  then  the  Widow,  through  a  mist, 
reached  forth  her  hand;  and  the  Colonel 
laughed  in  his  deeply  mellow  way,  but  when 
they  began  to  congratulate  him,  the  music  was 
gone,  leaving  no  echo. 

uNo,  little  Imogene,  no;  don't  tell  me  that, 
my  dear.  You  were  all  ashamed  of  me  and 
you  know  it.  I  felt  it.  Madam,  please  don't 
say  you  liked  it — you  who  must  be  such  a 
judge  of  plays.  I  am  easily  pleased,  it  is 
true,  but  don't  try  it  now." 

"Oh,  but  my  dear  friend,  I  will  speak," 
said  the  Widow,  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "I 
have  been  silent  so  long,  you  know,  for  weeks 
— so  long  that  you  must  let  me  speak.  Sit 
down,  please.  Sit  here,"  and  she  drew  for 
ward  a  chair  for  him.  "There  are  no  idlers 
here  and  we  can  talk.  I  did  like  the  play.  It 
is  elemental  and  strong." 

"Ah,  madam,  in  your  retirement  you  may 
have  forgotten  many  things,"  said  the  Col- 
310 


An  American  in  New  York 

onel,  "but  you  have  not  forgotten  how  to  be 
kind.'7 

"Stop  calling  me  madam,  and  listen  to  me. 
I  know  that  at  this  time  particularly  you  don't 
want  flattery  forced  upon  you;  I  know  you 
want  the  truth  and  that  is  exactly  what  I  am 
giving  you,  as  I  see  it  for  myself.  Of  course 
the  play  has  faults.  May  I  say  that  in  it 
there  is  not  enough  of  your  own  whim  or  your 
penetration  into  the  moods  of  others.  It 
seems  that  you  have  not  so  much  aimed  at  an 
entertainment  as  you  have  striven  to  express 
some  boiling  wrath  within  yourself;  you " 

"Madam — Margaret,  your  penetration 
would  pick  out  a  thorn.  The  play  is  a  sort 
of  revenge.  But  it  is,  so  far  as  the  public 
is  concerned,  a  failure — miserable  failure. 
Those  who  attended  went  especially  to  avenge 
themselves  upon  the  fact  that  it  was  written 
by  an  American." 

"Now,  Colonel,  you  surely  haven't  taken 
up  that  notion.  What  difference  does  it  make 
to  an  audience  who  writes  a  thing  so  long  as 
it  is  entertaining?  The  fact  is,  the  audience 
was  attracted  largely  by  the  fact  that  the  play 
was  written  by  an  American  in  New  York." 

"Attracted  to  the  house?     I    grant    you. 


An  American  in  New  York 

But  you  must  know  that  sometimes  we  are 
attracted  toward  an  expression  of  our  dis 
pleasure,  and  that  was  what  those  wretches 
were  looking  for  to-night,  an  opportunity  to 
be  displeased  and  to  show  it." 

"But  that  is  where  I  can't  understand  you. 
The  audience  was  not  displeased.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  applause,  and  I  was  disap 
pointed  when  you  refused  to  come  before  the 
curtain  at  the  end  of  the  third  act." 

"What!     Did  they  call  forme?" 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  criticise  an  audi 
ence  when  you  didn't  see  the  play  yourself?" 

"The  fact  is,  I  was  in  and  out — dodged 
out — on  business  just  before — well,  just  be 
fore  anything  took  place.  But  I  came  back 
and  was  mixed  up  with  the  crowd  and  heard 
enough  to  last  me  for  a  time.  Let  us  not 
think  about  it." 

Sammy  and  the  girl  were  off  in  a  corner 
looking  at  curios.  "Didn't  take  them  long," 
said  the  Colonel. 

"No,  flew  to  each  other's  arms — created 
for  each  other,"  said  the  Widow,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  tenderness  in  her  eyes.  "And  how 
nobly  he  talked  of  the  struggle  before  him, 
the  strife  necessary  to  conquer,  and  all  for 
312 


An  American  in  New  York 

her.  She  appreciates  it  all  and  will  help 
him — be  proud  to  work  with  him;  but,  con 
fidentially,  Colonel,  their  struggle  shall  not 
be  so  great  as  they  think.  I  will  see  to  it  that 
they  are  well  started. 

The  Colonel  thanked  her,  spoke  of  some 
thing  else,  but  could  not  keep  his  mind  off  his 
play.  He  could  see  that  Margaret  pitied  him, 
and  he  writhed  under  it.  Sammy  and  Imo- 
gene  wandered  away.  The  talk  dragged. 
Margaret  looked  tired.  The  Colonel  arose 
to  bid  her  good  night.  "I  hope  you'll  sleep 
well,"  she  said. 

In  his  old-time  way  he  laughed,  and  his 
eyes  were  in  unison  with  his  mellow  voice. 
"Oh,  yes,  like  a  top.  I  don't  know  why  any 
man  should  ever  have  said  that  he  slept  like 
a  top ;  don't  see  how  a  top  could  sleep.  Won 
der  if  it  weren't  a  misprint?  Don't  you  sup 
pose  it  was  intended  to  read,  'slept  like  a  cop?' 
Well,  good  night."  He  took  her  hand  and 
it  was  tremulous  for  a  moment  and  then  pas 
sive.  "Glad  you  came  down  to  see — but  no 
matter,  it  will  be  all  right  in  the  end.  If  you 
see  Sammy  tell  him  to  come  to  my  room  be 
fore  he  goes  to  bed." 

He  left  the  door  unlocked  and  was  in  bed 

3T3 


An  American  in  New  York 

when  Sammy  came.  "Hand  me  that  pipe 
over  there  and  then  sit  down,"  said  the 
American.  "Match,  too,  please.  Thank 
you."  For  a  time  he  smoked  in  silence,  sit 
ting  up,  leaning  back  against  the  headboard; 
and  the  young  fellow  "stood  about"  flinch- 
ingly,  as  if  he  expected  something  not  wholly 
agreeable. 

"Sammy,  he  was  there."    . 

"Who,  dad?" 

"Sim  Groggin." 

"What!  You  don't  say  so!"  He  ceased 
to  stand  about  irresolutely;  he  sat  down  on 
the  bed.  The  Colonel  continued.  "Not  a 
word  of  it  to  any  one,  you  understand?  Do 
you  hear?" 

"Yes,  dad,  I  hear." 

"All  right.  Having  been  furnished  with 
the  name  I  don't  see  why  the  detectives 
couldn't  find  him,  but  they  didn't  or  pretended 
that  they  didn't,  one  and  the  same  thing."  He 
sat  up  straighter,  gathering  the  covering 
about  his  legs,  smoking  fast  for  a  moment  or 
two.  "I  thought  he  would  be  there — thought 
the  name  of  the  play  would  attract  him.  But 
I  hardly  believe  that  he  associated  me  with 
the  writing  of  it.  But  he  was  there,  all  the 

3H 


An  American  in  New  York 

same,  standing  near  the  door;  and  when  I 
first  discovered  him  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  shooting  at  him  with  a  rifle,  and  he 
turned  around  with  a  start  and  saw  me.  Then 
he  darted  through  the  door,  and  I  after  him, 
headlong,  down  the  two  or  three  steps  to  the 
street.  But  he  got  away  from  me.  I  had 
nothing  to  shoot  with — wouldn't  have  shot 
anyway ;  I  wanted  to  choke  him,  down,  to  the 
ground,  into  the  mud,  under  my  feet." 

"I  am  glad  you  didn't  catch  him,  dad." 

"What !  And  here  not  long  ago  you  begged 
for  the  sweet  privilege  of  killing  him — if  oc 
casion  offered?  Do  you  remember  that?" 

"Yes,  I  remember.  But  I've  changed 
since  then." 

"Yes,  that's  natural,"  said  the  American, 
slowly  smoking.  "I  don't  blame  you.  Of 
course  I  didn't  intend  that  you  should  touch 
him,  but  I  wanted  you  to  feel  that — that  he 
ought  to  be  dead." 

"I  do  feel  that  way,  dad.  I  feel  that  every 
man  should  be  dead,  when  the  time  conies. 
But  I  don't  want  to  kill  any  one;  don't  want 
you  to  kill  any  human  being." 

"I  wouldn't,  but  I'd  kill  a  snake  that  looks 
something  like  a  human  being.  And  if  I  can 

315 


Ail  American  in  New  York 

get  hold  of  him,  he'll  have  to  answer.  You 
see  the  detectives  can  only  locate  him  for  me. 
They  can't  arrest  him;  and  I  may  have  trouble 
in  getting  hold  of  him,  but  it  will  come." 

"I  thought  that  love  softened  the  heart," 
said  the  young  man,  and  the  Colonel  looked 
at  him  a  long  time,  slowly  smoking.  "It  does, 
my  boy;  it  sometimes  softens  both  the  heart 
and  the  brain." 

"The  brain,  dad?  No,  I  don't  think  that. 
None  but  degenerate  love  can  do  that,  and 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  degenerate  love,  for 
all  love  is  creative  and  strong.  But  I  thought 
that  your  love  for  that  beautiful  woman— 

"Yes,  that's  all  right,  but  I  am  not  giving 
love  in  exchange  for  pity.  No  matter, 
though,  how  much  I  loved  her,  I  could  not  for 
get  the  debt  I  owe  the  past.  The  notes  are 
due,  and  when  opportunity  presents  them, 
they  shall  be  honored.  Yes,  sir,  but  don't 
you  worry.  There  shall  be  no  sensational 
murder,  no  penitentiary  or  electric  chair.  I'll 
manage  it  and  you  know  that  I  am  a  good 
manager." 

"But  think  of  the  sensation  if  the  public 
should  know  who  you  are." 

"I'll  manage  that  part,  too." 
316 


An  American  in  New  York 

"But,  dad,  when  are  you  going  to  tell  Aunt 
Mag  the  truth?  She  must  find  it  out  sooner 
or  later,  you  know." 

"She  shall  know  when  the  time  comes.  In 
her  sympathy  she  is  at  present  sorrowing  over 
my  defeat,  but  at  the  same  time  she  cannot 
hide  her  mild  contempt  for  me.  That  will  do 
now.  Good  night.  Spring  the  catch,  so  the 
door'll  lock.  Don't  want  to  get  up.  Don't 
worry,"  he  added,  as  Sammy  turned  toward 
the  door,  "but  at  the  same  time  don't  indulge 
the  hope  that  there  is  to  be  any  foolish  soften 
ing  toward  that  wolf." 


317 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XXV. 
NEW  YORK'S  OPINION. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  Colonel  sent  out 
for  the  newspapers,  and  when  they  had  been 
brought  by  a  boy  and  placed  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  Crit 
from  the  West  had  courage  to  receive  the 
opinion  of  New  York.  He  mused  that  it  was 
not  for  himself  that  he  cared.  From  men  he 
could  stand  any  degree  of  punishment,  but 
from  one  woman's  pity  he  shrank  timorously. 
If  those  papers  assaulted  him  she  would  no 
longer  make  even  faint  effort  to  hide  that  ten 
der  sting,  that  sympathy  worse  than  contempt. 
He  got  up,  dressed  and  stood  looking  from 
the  window.  The  great  town  was  throwing 
off  its  semblance  of  rest,  the  semi-drowse  of 
a  feverish  night.  Boys  were  darting  hither 
and  thither,  vending  Manhattan's  opinion  of 
the  Colonel.  And  there,  on  the  bed,  lay  that 
opinion,  in  several  sections  and  no  doubt  in 
several  degrees  of  shading,  dark,  darker  and 
black,  but  all  dark.  Perhaps,  however,  it 
might  not  all  be  somber. 

318 


An  American  in  New  York 

On  some  distant  hilltop  the  moon  might 
throw  a  smile  down  through  the  clouds.  But 
how  was  he  to  know  unless  he  looked?  He 
did  look.  Here  are  some  of  the  smiles: 
"Stupid  conventionalism.  .  .  .  There  may 
have  been  worse  plays  written,  but  they  cer 
tainly  were  never  produced.  .  .  .  But  for 
the  ranting  of  the  actors  the  audience  might 
have  slept  peacefully.  .  .  .  Instead  of  'by 
an  American  in  New  York,'  they  might  bet 
ter  have  said  'by  a  Jack  Rabbit  in  Town.' 
.  .  .  The  author  could  not  stay  in  the 
house.  This  proves  that  he  is  not  wholly  de 
void  of  taste.  .  .  . 

The  Colonel  tramped  the  papers  beneath  his 
feet.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  drag 
ging  some  of  them  about  with  him.  He  would 
slink  away  from  every  one,  from  Sammy;  it 
was  to  be  a  day  of  seclusion,  but  of  search 
for  the  man  who  had  fled  through  the  streets. 
Out  of  the  hotel  he  sneaked,  into  the  street, 
and  then  for  breakfast  he  entered  a  restau 
rant  that  was  as  quiet  and  as  obscure  as  any 
thing  could  be  in  Broadway.  And  there,  first 
table  from  the  door,  sat  a  man  with  a  news 
paper  propped  in  front  of  him,  reading  of 
"Click  City's"  shame.  The  Colonel  could 

319 


An  American  in  New  York 

see,  for  there  was  a  picture  of  Skidder,  and 
how  they  had  scored  him  upon  this  his  re 
turn  from  "fresh  achievements  abroad." 

The  breakfast,  no  matter  what  it  might 
have  been,  could  not  have  escaped  being  bad. 
The  Colonel  cursed  a  mutton  chop,  scolded  a 
girl,  gave  her  a  dollar  as  a  fee  due  from  quick 
repentance,  saw  her  smile  as  if  her  heart  had 
never  known  a  sorrow;  and  then  he  hastened 
off  to  call  at  a  detective  agency  whose  ser 
vices  he  had  engaged  early  after  his  coming 
to  New  York. 

"We  don't  think  you  have  cause  for  com 
plaint  of  our  inefficiency,"  said  the  manager, 
as  the  Colonel  sat  with  him  in  a  private  office. 
"Some  time  had  elapsed  since  you  had  seen 
the  man,  and  as  he  must  necessarily  have 
changed,  your  description  of  him  could  have 
furnished  but  a  vague  clew  to  his  present  ap 
pearance." 

"That's  good,"  replied  the  Colonel,  won 
dering  why  a  man  couldn't  talk  thus  in  a  play. 
"In  your  first  paragraph  you  make  a  strong 
case.  But  I  had  supplied  you  with  more  than 
a  time-faded  picture.  I  had  given  you  his 


name." 


"Yes,"   said  the  detective,   "but  no    such 
320 


An  American  in  New  York 

name  was  found  on  the  hotel  registers  of  New 
York  or  of  any  of  the  neighboring  towns. 
Whenever  we  ran  across  a  man  who  an 
swered  to  your  description,  we  looked  him 
up,  and  once  or  probably  twice  we  notified 
you  that  we  thought  your  man  had  been  seen. 
But  of  course  we  had  no  authority  to  grab 
him  and  to  hold  him  until  you  should  come." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  away, 
and  this  was  what  the  Colonel  did,  wander 
ing  about  with  no  aim  except  to  avoid  meet 
ing  anyone  who  might  have  a  "consoling"  ac 
quaintance  with  him.  At  noon-time  he  went 
into  a  rush-order  place;  and  now,  hungry,  he 
ate  with  a  sort  of  revenge  against  the  scoun 
drels  who  had  appointed  unto  themselves  the 
province  of  bass-drumming  New  York's 
opinion.  During  the  afternoon  he  wandered 
about  in  the  old  parts  of  the  town,  searching 
for  the  past  to  cover  with  its  soft  moss  the 
flint  edges  of  the  present.  Toward  night  he 
went  to  Daly's.  Six  seats  had  been  sold. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Colonel,  speaking  to  the 
young  fellow  in  the  box  office,  "they  some 
times  hang  out  a  sign,  'Standing  room  only,' 
don't  they?" 

321 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Yes,  they  have  done  such  things,  but  not 
lately." 

"Well,  suppose  I  design  a — a  motto  to 
hang  out?  An  attractively  painted  thing 
which  shall  read,  'To  hell  with  you.'  How 
would  that  do?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  do  very  well  here, 
sir.  Ah,  may  I  ask  if  you  expect  to  take  the 
play  off  soon?" 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that.  This  is  not 
for  publication  in  those  scandal  mongers,  but 
I've  got  money  enough  to  run  this  thing  till 
the  latest  one  of  the  cows  comes  home." 

He  went  around  and  stumbled  up  the  nar 
row  stairs  leading  to  the  dressing  rooms,  and 
found  Skidder  as  blue  as  a  "huckleberry." 
The  Colonel  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
bade  him  cheer  up. 

"All  our  work  for  nothing,"  said  the 
actor,  puffing  his  pipe,  the  smoke  floating 
among  the  cosmetics,  whiskers,  wigs,  lotions 
on  his  "make-up"  shelf.  "All  for  nothing." 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  replied  the  Colonel. 
"You  and  your  company  go  ahead  and  play 
just  as  if  the  house  were  crowded  and  you'll 
get  your  pay  just  as  promptly  and  as  cheer 
fully  as  if  it  were  a  roaring  success." 
322 


An  American  in  New  York 

"But  such  a  thing  can't  go  on,  you  know, 
Colonel." 

"Fgad,  sir,  it  can  go  on  till  I  tell  it  to  stop. 
Ring  up  when  the  time  comes  and  do  your 
best.  That's  all  I  ask,  and  when  it  comes  that 
I  can't  pay  you,  why,  you'll  see  some  of  those 
banks  go  stumping  off  on  one  leg,  I'll  tell  you 
that." 

Out  in  a  corridor,  not  much  wider  than  a 
cattle  trail  through  a  cane  brake,  a  dog 
barked,  and  instantly  seemed  to  have  been 
smothered  and  taken  away.  The  Colonel 
spoke  of  Miss  Baith,  and  Skidder  smiled. 
"Didn't  you  hear  her  submerging  her  dog?" 
he  asked,  putting  on  his  brown  wig.  "I'll  go 
and  see  if  she's  in  condition  to  receive  you." 

The  Colonel  protested,  but  Skidder  darted 
out,  suspenders  dangling  behind  him,  and  was 
gone  not  more  than  a  minute  when  he  called 
to  the  author  to  come  on.  Miss  Baith's  recep 
tion  of  the  American  was  gracious,  but  not 
particularly  so,  considering  that  it  was  his 
generous  pocket  that  had  enabled  her  to  re 
establish  herself  in  the  confidence  and  good 
opinion  of  a  landlady  given  to  gossip  and  to 
complaining;  but  in  the  light  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  just  been  done  to  a  pan-fish  brown 

323 


An  American  in  New  York 

by  the  roasters  and  the  friers  of  the  press,  her 
bearing  was  singularly  engaging.  And,  what 
may  add  to  the  apparent  sweetness  of  her  dis 
position  was  the  fact  that  she  herself  had  not 
escaped  the  hot  attention  of  those  red- 
browed  cooks.  The  dog  barked,  but  grabbed 
and  squeezed  into  submission,  was  stored 
away  somewhere,  to  wheeze  loud  and  occa 
sionally  to  fret.  Miss  Baith  was  glad  to  see 
the  Colonel  looking  so  well.  Was  he  feeling 
well?  Never  better.  Silence.  She  believed 
that  the  play  would  yet  be  a  go.  So  many 
successes  started  out  that  way.  The  Colonel 
thought  of  the  six  tickets  that  had  been  sold 
during  the  day  and  cleared  his  throat.  Si 
lence.  She  hoped  that  he  did  not  mind  criti 
cism  so  evidently  biased.  Oh,  he  thrived  on 
it,  but  at  the  same  time  he  would  like  to  have 
at  least  one  of  the  scoundrels  by  the  throat. 
How  long  was  the  play  likely  to  run?  She 
was  thinking  of  some  gowns  that  had  been 
ordered  a  few  days  before.  Oh,  it  would  run 
long  enough  to  prove  to  those  villains  that  it 
could  run  as  long  as  it  wanted  to.  She  liked 
to  see  a  man  determined  and  brave;  it  was 
so  rare  these  days.  He  took  leave  of  her 
and  groped  his  way  down  the  stairs. 

324 


An  American  in  New  York 

Out  in  front  an  old  woman  asked  him  to 
buy  a  package  of  chewing  gum. 

He  went  to  the  Waldorf  and  strode  up  and 
down  "Millionaire  lane,"  having  braved  him 
self  into  braving  anything,  and  was  nodded 
at  now  and  then.  Suddenly  a  man  bowed 

down  before  him.  "Why "Hold  on," 

commanded  the  Colonel.  "My  name  is 
Boyers  here." 

"Oh,  you  don't  say." 

"Yes,  a  mere  whim,  you  understand,  but 
one  that  must  be  respected,  for  a  time  at  least. 
I  have  met  a  few  acquaintances  here,  and  of 
them  all  have  made  the  same  request — met 
them  again  sometimes  and  introduced  them 
to  persons  whom  I  have — have,  well  you 
might  say,  taken  up  with  here." 

The  man  bowed  low  and  passed  on. 
Sammy  found  the  Colonel  and  told  him  that 
the  ladies  were  in  a  quiet  little  parlor,  a  nook 
almost  hidden  from  the  world.  The  youth 
took  him  by  the  arm,  spoke  persuasively,  and 
there  was  a  show  of  resistance,  but  he  yielded. 
The  Widow,  in  a  rocking  chair,  looked  like 
an  exhibition  of  creamy  lace.  In  a  chair  beside 
her  lay  her  fan.  She  took  it  up  and  bade  the 
Colonel  sit  down.  Imogene  came  laughing 

325 


An  American  in  New  York 

forth  from  a  blue  plush  corner,  took  his 
hands,  called  him  dad,  and  playfully  made 
as  if  she  would  nestle  against  his  breast,  so 
broad  but  withal  so  troubled;  but  remarking 
that  those  who  chanced  to  pass  might  not 
know  the  relationship,  she  sat  down.  Sammy 
hovered  near  her. 

"You  have  been  so  busy,"  said  Margaret, 
speaking  to  the  Colonel,  uthat  you  doubtless 
haven't  heard  or  at  least  haven't  been  able  to 
remember  many  of  the  details  concerning  the 
near  wedding  of  this  charmingly  foolish 
pair." 

"No,  madam,  I " 

"Margaret,"  she  corrected  him. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said,  bowing.  "No,  I 
haven't  heard  any  of  the  delightful  particu 
lars." 

"Isn't  he  grand!"  Imogene  exclaimed,  and 
Sammy  looked  up  as  if  he  would  call  atten 
tion  to  the  fact  that  she  was  the  wisest  creat 
ure  who,  at  that  time,  happened  to  inhabit 
the  face  of  the  earth. 

"Well,"  said  Margaret,   "they  are  to  be 
married  just  as  soon  as  they  can  possibly  get 
ready,  which  will  take  only  a  few  weeks." 
326 


An  American  in  New  York 

"And  then,  dad,"  cried  Imogene,  "we  are 
going  to  America." 

"Lord  bless  your  sweet  lips,"  broke  out  the 
Colonel.  "Your  very  words  carry  me  back. 
Yes,  and  then  if  you  want  to  go  to  Europe, 
all  right." 

"Yes,  after  a  while,"  she  said.  "But  for  a 
long  time  we'll  have  to  work  to  get  money 
enough.  We  won't  mind  that,  though ;  it  will 
be  fun." 

"Have  you  any  idea  as  what  particular  sort 
of  work  you  are  to  do?"  the  Colonel  inquired 
of  the  girl,  but  looking  at  Margaret  and 
catching  the  tender  glow  in  her  eye. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  milk  the 
cows.  And  I  won't  wear  anything  red,  and — • 
and  consequently  I  needn't  be  afraid  of  them. 
And  Sammy  will  dig  up  the  sugar  beets  and 
water  the  horses;  and  on  Sunday  we'll  ride 
mustangs  to  church,  forty  miles  away,  taking 
our  guns  with  us  to  persuade  the  Indians  to 
let  us  alone — oh,  I've  got  it  all  mapped  out, 
and  it  is  beautiful.  My  ancestors  froze  their 
feet  in  a  Puritan  church  while  trying  to  keep 
their  hands  warm  enough  to  shoot  a  fire-lock, 
and  in  spirit  I'm  going  right  back  among  them 
and  be  natural." 

327 


An  American  in  New  York 

Sammy  roared  with  laughter.  He  said 
that  to  hear  her  talk  was  better  than  a  humor 
ous  lecture,  and  taking  the  average  humorous 
lecture  as  the  standard,  this  might  not  have 
been  much  short  of  the  truth.  But  it  was 
time  for  him  and  the  girl  to  wander  away, 
and  they  wandered,  looking  at  things  as  if 
they  had  not  seen  them  more  than  a  hundred 
times. 

"Beautiful,"  said  Margaret.  "Ah,  and  let 
them  bathe  in  this  pearly  sea,  now  while  the 
tide  sings  sweet  and  low.  The  breakers  will 
come  soon  enough." 

"It  is  the  fear  that  sometimes  invites  them 
to  come,"  the  Colonel  replied.  "The  brave 
live  longer  than  the  cowards." 

"I  believe  that  is  true,"  she  said,  and  to 
ward  him  with  the  slow  movement  of  her  fan 
she  wafted,  not  the  scent,  but  the  merest  sug 
gestion  of  a  blooming  plum  tree.  And  so 
they  talked  of  many  things,  but  never  did  she 
seek  to  lead  him  toward  the  brier  thicket,  the 
criticisms  of  his  play;  but  in  his  heart  he  felt 
that  she  pitied  him,  and  when  this  feeling  was 
strongest,  he  bade  her  good  night.  In  his 
room  he  thought  of  the  afternoon  papers  and 
sent  for  them,  with  the  hope,  acknowledged 
328 


An  American  in  New  York 

within  himself,  that  there  might  be  some 
"change  in  public  opinion,"  but  there  it  was, 
an  echo  of  the  morning — "dujl  as  a  tale  forced 
upon  you."  ...  "A  snore  set  to  lugubri 
ous  tune."  And  he  went  to  bed,  hoping  that 
Margaret  might  not  see  these  tirades  of  ad 
ditional  insult. 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHARTER    XXVI. 

IN  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY  ROOM. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  the  Col 
onel  called  at  the  detective  agency.  Groggin 
had  not  been  "spotted,"  though  no  effort  had 
been  spared  to  "locate"  him.  It  was,  how 
ever,  only  a  question  of  time.  uYes,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "let  it  alone  and  eternity  itself  will 
be  only  a  question  of  time." 

Back  to  the  hotel  he  went,  feeling  utterly 
alone.  No  longer  was  Sammy  company  for 
him,  and  fearing  the  soft  light  of  pity  in  her 
eyes,  he  shrank  from  the  almost  sure  chance 
of  meeting  Margaret.  But  in  the  men's  cafe 
he  sat  down  to  muse  over  her.  The  waiter 
came,  took  his  order,  cat-stepped  away;  and 
the  Colonel  continued  to  muse,  deeper  and 
deeper,  into  her  character,  her  nature.  How 
different  she  was  from  what  he  had  at  first 
conceived  her  to  be ;  how  much  more  human, 
home-like,  American.  Surely  she  had  told 
the  truth  in  her  attitude  toward  society,  that 
she  did  not  strive  to  be  a  part  of  it.  In  New 
York  his  mission  would  soon  be  fulfilled, 

330 


An  American  in  New  York 

whatever  it  might  be,  but  had  not  the  very 
opposites  of  the  town,  the  antagonisms, 
educed  a  sort  of  attachment?  Did  he  care  to 
go  away,  or  was  it  Margaret  whom  he 
dreaded  to  leave?  It  was.  Then  why  not 
ask  her  to  go  with  him,  to  be  his  wife?  Con 
cerning  marriage  he  held  what  he  termed  the 
old,  the  sentimental  idea;  that  there  must  be 
love,  romance,  no  mere  business  resolve  to 
live  together,  looking  after  each  other's  com 
fort — partners;  he  would  rather  quarrel  with 
a  woman  if  she  loved  him  and  he  loved  her 
than  to  live  in  the  regulated  agreement  of 
suited  matrimony.  But  he  could  not  arise 
to  the  feeling  that  she  loved  him.  In  many 
ways  he  had  full  confidence  in  himself,  was 
arrogant;  he  would  step  out  into  the  street 
and  advise  a  teamster  as  to  the  most  effective 
way  to  start  a  balky  horse;  that  morning  he 
had  halted  to  show  a  number  of  workmen 
that  they  were  not  digging  a  foundation  in 
the  proper  manner;  he  would  have  passed  ad* 
verse  judgment  on  a  composer  who  had  re 
ceived  the  approval  of  the  world,  but  he 
could  not  say  to  himself  that  Margaret  loved 
him. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  went  down  to  the 

331 


An  American  in  New  York 

theatre.  "Well,  how  are  we  now?"  he  in 
quired  of  the  young  man. 

"Slow.11 

"Any  advance  over  yesterday's  rush? 
Have  they  been  kicking  against  one  another's 
heels  ?" 

"No,  the  other  fellow  got  out  of  the  way." 

"Other  fellow?" 

"Yes,  the  one  in  front.  Colonel,  we  sold 
only  two  seats  to-day." 

"All  right.  See  that  the  two  get  in  and 
then  shut  the  doors.  Don't  let  'em  out. 
Any — what  do  you  call  'em?  Enchores? 
Any  last  night?" 

"Didn't  hear  of  any.  Don't  you  think 
we'd  better  paper  the  house  ?  The  press  agent 
says  you  told  him " 

"I  told  him  not  to  go  out  into  the  high 
ways  and  compel  them  to  come  in.  Let  them 
stay  out." 

"Well,  I  guess  they  will." 

"Wholly  unconscious  of  the  fact,  I  suppose, 
that  it  doesn't  make  an  infernal  bit  of  differ 
ence  to  me." 

In  the  evening  he  met  Margaret,  and  in  her 
eyes  there  was  that  same  soft  light,  sunset 
after-glow  of  a  summer's  day.  Together 

332 


An  American  in  New  York 

they  walked  up  and  down  the  marble  corridor, 
and  then  they  sat  in  a  corner,  listening  to  the 
music.  Occasionally  Sammy  and  Imogene 
came  by,  always  laughing  out  of  their  eyes, 
always  happy;  and  like  a  luminous  mist  the 
hours  floated  away,  and  still  she  had  not  men 
tioned  having  seen  the  criticisms.  But  he 
knew  that  she  had  seen  them,  for  in  her  man 
ner  toward  him  there  was  even  more  of  ten 
derness,  of  sympathy. 

"Did  I  ask  you  if  you  enjoyed  your  visit 
to  the  country?" 

"I  don't  remember.  Well,  yes,  in  a  way," 
she  said,  dreamily,  as  if  she  were  looking 
back  upon  a  scene.  "The  house  was  very 
quiet,  for  love  makes  no  noise — I  mean 
Sammy  and  Imogene,  and  I  made  myself 
think  that  I  was  enjoying  the  gathering  forces 
of  my  own  strength.  There  are  times,  you 
know,  when  we  feel  that  we  should  be 
stronger,  when  deeply  we  regret  not  having 
been  stronger — and  then,  feeling  that  we  can 
be,  that  we  are,  we  find  pleasure  in  the — the 
dominance  of  moral  rectitude." 

"That  is  perhaps  the  way  a  man  feels  when 
he  knows  he  has  been  a  fool,  Margaret,  but 
I  never  could  get  any  pleasure  out  of  resolv- 

333 


An  American  in  New  York 

ing  never  to  be  so  again  because  I  learned  a 
long  time  ago  that  I  should.  But  how  could 
you  feel  that  you  ought  to  have  been  stronger? 
What  have  you  done  that  was  weak?" 

uOh,  you  don't  know,  you  can't  know," 
she  said. 

"No,  not  unless  you  tell  me." 

"And  if  I  should,  you'd  have  a  contempt 
for  me." 

"I  couldn't  be  placed  in  such  a  position. 
Margaret,  as  now  I  look  back,  as  I  look  at  the 
light  that  sometimes  comes  into  your  eyes, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  never  knew  a  real  soul 
until  I  met  you — yes,  one,  a  long  time  ago, 
but  her  soul,  beautiful  as  it  was,  could  not 
have  been  so  great  as  yours." 

"Colonel,  I  forbid  you  to  talk  that  way. 
Remember  you  are " 

"Yes,  I  remember  everything,  but  before 
I  leave  this  town  I  may  tell  you  something 

that "  Sammy  and  Imogene  came  up. 

"How  now,  youngsters?  Have  you  had  your 
bread  and  milk  for  the  night?" 

They  passed  on,  laughing  out  of  their 
merry  eyes,  and  the  Colonel  was  about  to 
catch  up  his  broken  thread  when  the  voices 
of  two  men  reached  him,  one,  especially,  for 

334 


An  American  in  New  York 

he  caught  the  words,  "Yes,  the  newspapers 
skinned  him  alive."  And  Margaret  heard, 
too,  for  the  look  of  pity  came  into  her  eyes. 
Shortly  afterward  he  bade  her  good-night — 
did  not  notice  that  she  was -loth  to  go,  that 
she  parted  from  him  resignedly;  he  did  not 
note  the  sadness  in  her  voice  except  as  it  con 
veyed  to  him  the  pity  and  the  sorrow  over  his 
defeat. 

Early  after  breakfast  on  the  following  day 
he  wandered  about,  as  if  looking  for  freedom 
from  worry,  for  rest  and  he  thought  of  the 
quiet  place  whither  Margaret  had  gone, 
where  strength  had  come  back  to  her.  He 
knew  not  where  the  place  was,  but  remem 
bered  that  it  must  lie  somewhere  within  the 
neighborhood  of  New  Haven.  He  had  been 
walking  uptown  and  was  now  not  far  from 
the  railway  station.  uWhy  not  take  a  run 
up  there?"  he  mused.  "The  fresh  air  will 
do  me  good."  This  resolved  itself  into  de 
cision,  and  he  got  into  a  train  which  was 
about  ready  to  start.  Here  and  there  a 
glimpse  of  the  Sound  reminded  him  of  the 
far  West,  of  the  water  out  from  Seattle,  and 
he  was  dreaming  pleasantly  when  the  train 
reached  New  Haven.  Here  he  walked  be- 

335 


An  American  in  New  York 

neath  the  great  elms  of  old  Yale's  campus, 
musing  over  the  many  feet  that  had  gone 
before,  to  destruction,  to  death  on  the  field 
of  battle,  when  looking  up  suddenly  he  saw 
something  that  made  him  catch  his  breath. 
He  saw  a  man  entering  a  doorway  just  across 
from  the  college,  a  restaurant,  and  with  no 
thought  of  the  strange  and  undignified  sight 
he  might  afford,  he  ran  toward  the  place,  en 
tered  and  demanded  of  an  attendant: 

"Where  did  that  man  go — the  one  that 
past  came  in?" 

In  the  rear  was  a  room  fitted  up  in  six 
teenth  century  style,  and  toward  it  the  attend 
ant  gestured.  The  Colonel  entered  the  room. 
Over  in  a  corner,  with  his  arms  on  a  table, 
in  a  chair  old  in  the  memory  of  this,  a  former 
student,  sat  Sim  Groggin.  The  Colonel  was 
between  him  and  the  door.  He  looked  up. 
With  his  hand  the  Colonel  made  a  downward 
gesture.  "Don't  move,  Groggin." 

He  was  perfectly  calm.  "I  am  not  mov 
ing,"  he  said.  "You  know  it  is  not  my  habit 
to  run  away,  and  I  ran  the  other  night  be 
cause  I  didn't  want  to  kill  you.  And  may  I 
ask  what  you  want  with  me  now,  Blandin?" 

336 


An  American  in  New  York 

"I  want  to  feast  my  eyes  upon  your  in 
famous  countenance." 

"And  when  your  eyes  are  no  longer  hun 
gry — what  then?" 

"You  ought  to  know." 

"Murder?     Is  that  your  game?" 

"No  name  you  call  it,  sir,  will  soften  my 
purpose.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  quiet.  It 
is  only  the  fool  that  rants.  And  it  is  only 
the  weakling  that  relents." 

"I  haven't  called  you  a  fool,  Blandin.  I 
did  you  a  mortal  wrong — that's  a  fact,  but 
I'll  venture  to  say  that  I  have  suffered  for  it 
more  than  you  have." 

How  old  he  looked,  how  hollow-eyed,  as  if 
haunted. 

"I  ought  to  have  been  killed — I  acknowl 
edge  that.  I  don't  think  there  ever  was  such 
a  wretch.  But  we  were  out  among  desperate 
men,  and  civilization  had  taught  that  treach 
ery  in  a  case  of  love ' 

"No  more  of  that!"  The  Colonel  was 
now  standing  near  him. 

"Well,  what  then?  I  hope  you  don't  think 
that  I'm  begging  for  my  life.  You've  had 
cause  to  know  that  I'm  a  scoundrel,  but  never 
an  occasion  to  believe  me  a  coward,  except 

337 


An  American  in  New  York 

when  I've  dodged  you — because  I  didn't  want 
to  kill  you.  And  now  a  murder  within  the 
shadow  of  old  Yale !  Rather  out  of  har 
mony,  don't  you  think?" 

"I'll  grant  you  the  best  of  the  argument, 
Groggin;  I  don't  care. to  argue;  I  have  quit 
the  practice  of  law." 

"Or  the  observance  of  it,  eh?" 

"That  is  very  good  and  very  true.  But 
with  both  of  us  in  it,  Groggin,  the  world  is 
crowded.  Civilization  has  advanced — but  I 
am  not  here  to  expand  upon  the  absurdity  of 
my  position.  You  and  I  belong  to  another 
state  of  society.  God,  it  does  my  immovable 
heart  good  to  gaze  upon  that  hell-map  coun 
tenance  of  yours.  You  say  I  have  no  cause  to 
think  you  a  coward.  That  is  true.  You 
spoke  as  if  you  did  not  value  your  life.  Then 
why  preserve  it?  Your  passing  away  might 
mean  a  favor  to  some  one  who  has  not  yet 

been  unfortunate  enough  to  meet  you.    Your 

u 

"All  of  which  leads  to  what,  Blandin?" 
"That  you  may  kill  yourself  if  you  choose." 
"And  if  I  don't  choose?" 
"I  shall  ha've  to  kill  you — violently.  There 
are  easy  ways,  and  I  don't  care  particularly  to 

338 


An  American  in  New  York 

see  you  suffer — to  gasp.  All  I  want  is  to 
know  that  you  are  no  longer  in  the  world." 

"You  don't  object  to  my  thinking  a  mo 
ment?" 

"No,  but  only  a  moment,  for  we  might  be 
interrupted.  It  is  only  the  devilish  belief  in 
the  waiter's  mind  that  he  is  neglecting  us  that 
has  left  us  free." 

"You  were  always  humorous,  Blandin." 

"Don't  repeat  my  name  so  often.  Are  you 
thinking?" 

"Yes."  He  straightened  up.  "I  was 
thinking  that  you  might  waive  causes  and 
yield  to  generosity — to  give  me  a  chance. 
You  were  always  willing  to  take  a  chance. 
And  after  all  it  doesn't  or  wouldn't  matter 
much  which  one  goes  out  of  the  world — so 
far  as  the  other  is  concerned.  The  chance  I 
mean  is  this.  Suppose  we  shake  dice  to  de 
termine  which  one  of  us  shall  kill  himself 
quietly  in  his  room  to-night?  Absurd,  yes, 
but  so  is  your  position  this  minute.  If  you 
win  I'll  keep  my  contract." 

"Groggin,  you've  got  me  cornered." 

"Well,  then,  let  me  walk  out." 

"No." 

339 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Then  as  a  fair-minded  man  how  can  you 
turn  down  my  proposition?" 

"Cornered." 

"Shall  I  call  for  a  dice  box?  You  beat  me 
out  of  a  law  library  once,  before  we  were 
partners.  Don't  you  remember?" 

"Yes,  and  carried  it  off  at  one  load  in  a 
gunnysack." 

Groggin  smiled.  "You  want  me  dead,  but 
you  don't  want  to  commit  murder.  It  would 
spoil  your  life,  and  you  have  much  to  live  for. 
If  you  should  lose,  you  quietly  pass  away 
after  making  all  necessary  arrangements." 

"Groggin,  I  am  the  injured  one,  the  one 
who  ought  to  blow  out  your  brains.  Nobody 
but  a  fool  would  place  his  life  upon  such  a 
hazard." 

"And  nobody  but  a  fool  would  follow  me 
as  you  have  done." 

"That  is  true.     I  tell  you  I  am  cornered." 

"Well,  a  cornered  man  ought  to  accept.*' 

"I  do  accept.     Hit  the  bell." 

Groggin  struck  the  bell.  The  waiter  came. 
"Dice  box,  please." 

From  a  shelf  the  waiter  took  down  a  dice 
box,  turned  the  dice  out  into  his  hand,  saw 
340 


An  American  in  New  York 

that  there  were  five,  replaced  them,  put  the 
box  on  the  table  and  withdrew. 

"Now,"  said  Groggin,  uwe  both  swear  to 
carry  out  the  terms  of  the  contract." 

"We  do.    You  know  I  will." 

"Shall  I  shake?" 

"Yes,  three  times,  and  no  horses." 

"All  right." 

Without  a  tremor  Groggin  took  up  the 
box  and  slowly  began  to  shake  it. 

"Throw." 

He  threw  two  sixes,  two  deuces  and  an  ace. 
He  studied.  "I  don't  know  whether  to  try 
to  fill  here  or  not." 

"Use  your  own  judgment." 

He  left  the  sixes.  Another  throw — another 
six  and  two  fives.  "Full  hand.  I  don't  know 
whether  to  leave  it  or  not.  Only  one  more 
throw.  I'll  leave  it." 

How  quiet  it  all  was,  how  remindful  of  the 
days  when  in  the  West  a  man  set  no  store 
upon  his  life. 

The  Colonel  took  the  box  and  threw — 
three  fours,  a  five  and  a  tray.  "Pretty  fair  if 
I  can  help."  He  threw  again — did  not  help. 
He  took  up  the  two  dice  and  shook  the  box 
round  and  round  and  turned  it  down  upon 

34i 


An  American  in  New  York 

the  table.  "Your  death  or  mine  under  there, 
Groggin." 

"Lift  it  up." 

The  Colonel  raised  the  box.  Another  four. 
Groggin  did  not  start,  did  not  wince.  "Well, 
I'm  glad  it's  over  with,"  he  said.  "Many  a 
time  IVe  thought  of  doing  the  thing — so  I 
haven't  lost  much.  Well,  are  you  through 
with  me?" 

"Yes.    To-night,  remember." 

"To-night.  I'm  at  the  Holland  House — 
George  Wilber — in — the  book.  You'll  see  it 
in  the  papers  to-morrow.  Where  are  you?" 

"Waldorf.    J.  Boyers." 

"I  may  telephone  you  to-night." 

"Very  well.     Good-bye." 

"Shake  hands?" 

"No,  if  I  should  touch  you  I'd  kill  you. 
Good-bye." 


342 


An  American  in  New  York 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

"Give  human  nature  a  chance  and  it  will 
nearly  always  be  a  fool,"  the  Colonel  mused 
on  his  way  back  to  the  city.  But  this  reflec 
tion,  wise  as  he  fancied  it  to  be,  was  not  suf 
ficient.  He  brought  up  arguments  to  sustain 
his  conviction  that  Groggin  ought  to  be  dead, 
that  his  death  would  serve  a  purpose  com 
mended  by  the  Fates,  whoever  they  might  be ; 
and  so  he  kept  his  heart  from  softening.  But 
when  the  newspapers  should  come  out  with 
their  screaming  lines,  and  when  in  the  streets 
the  boys  should  cry  the  suicide,  could  he  look 
into  Margaret's  tender  eyes?  Yes,  and  see 
that  same  light  of  pity  for  himself,  for  his 
tragedy,  the  wilful  murder  of  a  modest  hope. 
Ah,  but  had  the  hope  been  modest?  Was  it 
not  a  revenge  rather  than  an  aspiration  that 
had  fathered  the  play,  and  was  not  that  re 
venge  almost  accomplished?  It  would  be 
that  night.  Groggin  would  keep  his  oath, 
and  when  he  was  out  of  it,  the  world  would 
look  better. 

343 


An  American  in  New  York 

In  the  evening  he  found  Margaret  in  an 
alcove,  in  company  with  several  acquaint 
ances,  among  them  the  Doctor  and  a  seller  of 
gold  bricks  from  Mexico;  but  the  company, 
afraid  that  the  American  might  talk  about  the 
play,  soon  wandered  off,  leaving  Margaret 
and  the  Colonel  alone.  Sammy  and  Imogene 
had  gone  to  see  a  comic  opera.  Margaret 
had  reminded  the  girl  that  we  go  to  hear  an 
opera,  and  laughingly  she  had  replied:  "Not 
this  sort  of  one,  auntie.  Do  we,  Sambo?" 

uYou  seem  sadder  than  usual  to-night," 
Margaret  remarked  to  the  Colonel,  and  he 
shook  his  head.  "No,  I  think  not." 

"I  want  to  see  the  play  again." 

"Please  don't." 

"But  I  tell  you  I  liked  it.  How  long  will 
it  run?" 

"It  ought  not  to  run  a  moment  longer, 
since  its  mission  has  been  fulfilled;  but  the 
company — guess  I'll  give  them  an  honorar 
ium  to  quit." 

Slowly  she  was  moving  her  fan,  and  to  his 
senses  came  that  same  suggestion  of  a  plum 
tree  in  bloom.  "If  it  is  not  to  be  a  success  it 
is  a  shame  to  spend  so  much  money  on  it,"  she 
said,  and  he  knew  that  the  Doctor  and  the 

344 


An  American  in  New  York 

gold  brick  seller  had  been  gloating  over  his 
failure.    "I  don't  regret  the  cost,"  he  replied. 

"Won't  you  please  let  me  bear  part  of  it? 
Won't  you  if  I  ask  it  as  a  favor?  I  have 
some  money  that  I  don't  need — ten,  twenty 
thousand.  Won't  you  please  take  it?" 

"No,  my  dear — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  can 
afford  all  that  I  am  likely  to  throw  away. 
Don't  think  about  it,  please." 

How  handsome  she  was;  what  a  glory 
radiated  from  her  hair.  He  looked  at  her 
arms,  her  beautiful  hands,  and  forgot  the 
man  at  the  Holland  House,  forgot  every 
thing  on  earth  but  her.  Was  it  time  for  him  to 
tell  her  that  he  was  not  married,  that  he  had 
fibbed  as  a  joke  at  first  and  had  turned  it  into 
a  sustained  lie,  to  hold  her  as  a  companion? 
No,  it  was  not  time.  He  would  wait  until 
after  the  boys  had  cried  out  something  in  the 
street.  And  then  he  thought  of  Groggin,  of 
the  scene  in  the  sixteenth  century  room,  now 
so  strange,  so  distinct,  a  vague  dream.  But 
the  result  was  not  to  be  a  dream,  though  a 
sleep. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "I  threatened  to  tell 
you  something  that  would  cause  you  to  hate 


me." 


345 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Ah,  in  that  line,  Margaret,  I  can  give  you 
cards  and  spades."  A  vision  of  dice,  of  a  six 
full,  arose  in  his  mind. 

"No,  I  think  not,  Colonel.  But  I  have 
never  done  anything  very  bad.  I  have — been 
married  twice." 

"Twice,"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  The  first  time  I  married  a  man  on 
his  deathbed.  It  was  a  girlish  romance,  a 
foolish  thing.  If  he  had  been  well  and 
strong  probably  I  should  not  have  married 
him.  But  as  it  was  I  did,  and  he  died  that 
day.  Then,  a  number  of  years  afterward  I 
married  a  speculator  who  had  dazzled  me 
with  his  boldness.  He  failed  in  New  York 
and  went  West.  He  was  a — a  brute,  and  I 
didn't  go  with  him.  We  did  not  correspond, 
but  I  heard  that  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  strike 
a  fortune  in  mining,  so  my  lawyer  kept  track 
of  him.  Well,  he  died.  And  now  comes  a 
strange  part  of  the  story.  Really  he  was 
worth  nothing  at  the  time  of  his  death,  but  a 
man,  the  most  generous  man  in  the  world — 
this  man  rather  than  take  advantage  of  some 
sort  of  document,  acknowledged  an  indebted 
ness  to  me  of  three  hundred  thousand  dollars 
and  forwarded  the  money  to  my  lawyer. 

346 ' 


An  American  in  New  York 

After  this  I  took  the  name — a  freakish 
thing — name  of  my  first  husband,  for  my  fam 
ily  name  was  harsh  and  plebeian.  Haven't 
I  been  weak?  Now,  don't  you  despise  me?" 

He  shook  his  head,  gazing  at  her.  "And 
the  name  of  the  man  who  would  not  take 
advantage  of  a  technicality?" 

"James  Blandin,  the  great  Copper  King. 
Did  you  ever  meet  him  out  West?" 

A  vision  of  Groggin  arose,  and  the  Colonel 
heard  his  own  voice  command,  "Stop  calling 
me  Blandin." 

"Yes,  I  have  met  him." 

"I  wrote  to  him  before  I  took  my  first  hus 
band's  name — was  ashamed  to  write  after 
ward." 

A  page  came  shouting:  "Telephone  for 
J.  Boyers." 

"Here,  boy." 

"The  Holland  House  wishes  to  talk  to  you, 
sir." 

The  Colonel  excused  himself  and  hastened 
to  the  telephone  booth.  "Hello,  who  is  it?" 

"Groggin." 

"Oh." 

"It  will  all  be  over  pretty  soon,  and  I  just 
thought  I'd  tell  you  I  was  going  to  keep  my 

347 


An  American  in  New  York 

word — going  by  the  gas  route — am  in  my 
room  now,  and  the  door  locked.  I  want  you 
to  know,  Blandin,  that  no  wretch  ever  suf 
fered  more  than  I  have — and  it  may  rob  you 
of  some  of  the  sweets  of  your  victory,  but  I 
want  you  to  know  that  I'm  glad  it's  about  all 
over  with.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes." 

"I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  in  that  theatre 
or  that  you  had  anything  to  do  with  the  play, 
but  that  amounts  to  nothing.  The  end  has 
come,  and ' 

"No,"  shouted  the  Colonel.  "No!  Do 
you  hear?" 

No  answer.  The  connection  was  cut  off. 
The  Colonel  hastened  to  Margaret.  "I  must 
ask  you  to  excuse  me,"  he  hastily  began.  "I 
must  go  at  once— 

"Just  a  moment,  Colonel.  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question  that  I've  wanted  to  ask  be 
fore,  but  didn't.  I  had  a  brother  in  the 
West — Sim  Groggin ' 

"What!"  the  Colonel  shouted.  "Come 
with  me,  this  minute — no  time  for  wraps-— 
with  me."  He  seized  her  hand. 

"Why,  Colonel,  what  is  the  matter?" 

348 


An  American  in  New  York 

"Come,  I  tell  you — case  of  life  or  death. 
Don't  ask  a  question  now.  Come  with  me." 

He  almost  dragged  her  till  she  ran  to  keep 
up  with  him.  They  jumped  into  a  cab.  "To 
the  Holland  House.  Quick! — five  dollars 
for  you." 

The  driver  whipped  his  horse.  It  was  a 
whirl,  a  lunge,  a  sudden  stop.  Out  he  jumped, 
she  following  close.  The  Colonel  threw 
down  a  gold  piece  and  ran  into  the  hotel,  up 
to  the  counter.  "George  Wilber's  room. 
Suicide — force  the  door.  Send  the  house 
physician." 

The  door  was  forced.  A  stifling  volume  of 
gas  poured  out.  Groggin  was  found  uncon 
scious  on  the  bed.  "It  will  all  be  made  clear 
in  time,"  the  Colonel  whispered  to  Margaret 
as  the  physician  began  swiftly  to  apply  his 
art. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  in  low  tones,  looking 
on,  "but  why  did  you  bring  me?  Who  is  the 
man?" 

"Your  brother.  Hush — not  a  word."  She 
looked  at  the  man  on  the  bed,  at  the  Colonel, 
and  was  silent.  "A  few  moments  more  and 
he  would  have  been  gone,"  said  the  physician. 
The  windows  were  up.  The  sharp  clack  of 

349 


An  American  in  New  York 

hoofs  beating  the  asphalt  vibrated  in  the  air. 
Already  there  were  reporters  in  the  room. 
They  made  inquiries  of  the  physician.  He 
nodded  toward  the  Colonel.  The  American 
told  them  what  he  thought  was  enough;  but 
to  a  reporter  no  one  ever  tells  what  is  wanted, 
except  as  he  suggests,  as  he  opens  an  avenue 
for  a  story.  uHe  is  coming  to,"  some  one 
remarked.  Margaret  moved  closer  to  the 
bed.  She  wanted  to  take  Groggin's  hand, 
but  the  physician  said:  "Not  now,  madam, 
please." 

"He  is  my  brother,  sir." 

"But  he  is  my  patient." 

She  moved  back.  A  reporter  inquired  of 
the  Colonel  if  he  were  not  the  author  of  the 
play  at  Daly's. 

"Yes,  and  this  man  was  once  a  partner  of 
mine.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  a  long  time.  He 
didn't  know  that  I  was  here.  Despondent." 

"And  your  name,  please?" 

"I  don't  care  to  discuss  personalities.  My 
name  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair — so 
far  as  the  public  is  concerned." 

That  statement  made  his  name  of  vital 
concern  to  the  public.  Groggin  began  to  mut 
ter.  "Go  away  and  let  me  alone.  It  must 

350 


AH,"    HE    SAID,        IT'S    YOUR    OLD    VOICE,    BLANDIN  —  JIM~ 
YOUR    OLD    VOICE." 


An  American  in  New  York 

be."  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  at 
the  Colonel.  "You  see  I'm  not  a  liar.  I  will 
keep  my  word." 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Your  life  is 
your  own." 

"It  is  of  no  account.  I  ought  to  be  dead. 
I'm  a  pauper." 

"Not  a  pauper,  Sim,  as  long  as  I  have  any 
thing,  and  you  know  what  that  means." 

Margaret  was  kneeling  beside  the  bed. 

Groggin  raised  up.  Tears  streamed  out 
of  his  eyes.  "Ah,"  he  said^  "it  is  your  old 
voice,  Blandin — Jim — your  old  voice." 

Margaret  looked  at  the  Colonel.  She  said 
nothing.  She  sobbed. 

The  air  was  cold  and  the  physician  pulled 
down  one  of  the  windows.  He  said  that  he 
must  insist  upon  every  one  leaving  the  room. 
The  patient  showed  signs  of  natural  sleep. 
He  had  not  recognized  his  sister.  She  begged 
the  physician  to  permit  her  to  remain.  The 
Colonel  insisted  and  the  medical  man  yielded. 
And  now  all  was  quiet.  The  hours  passed. 
Groggin  awoke.  His  sister  was  near  him, 
spoke  and  he  looked  at  her  and  took  her  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "A  long  time,"  he 
said.  "Where  is  Jim?" 

351 


An  American  in  New  York 

''Waiting  to  take  me  back  to  the  Waldorf," 
she  answered. 

"And  you  know  him.  There's  only  one." 
He  slept  again. 

It  was  after  daylight  when  the  Colonel  and 
Margaret  returned  to  the  hotel.  On  the  way 
not  a  word  was  spoken.  As  they  were  getting 
out  of  the  cab  she  said:  'And  your  name  is 
Blandin — the  man  who " 

"Not  now,"  he  broke  in.  "We  shall  talk 
of  that  some  other  time." 


Boys  in  the  street  were  shouting  the  sensa 
tion  of  the  day.  "All  about  Blandin,  the 
Great  Copper  King,  author  of  the  play  at 
Daly's!"  His  wealth  was  estimated  at 
seventy-five  millions,  and  he  was  said  to  be 
the  most  peculiar  man  in  America.  The  at 
tempted  suicide  of  Groggin  was  interwoven, 
and  was  explained  no  further  than  that  it  was 
a  deep  mystery. 

The  Colonel  slept  until  nearly  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  Numerous  reporters  had 
called,  but  as  he  had  left  orders  not  to  be  dis 
turbed,  and  especially  as  he  was  a  copper 
king,  his  wishes  were  observed.  As  he  was 

352 


An  American  in  New  York 

in  the  elevator  going  down,  he  heard  two 
men  talking  about  his  play.  "Went  to  the 
theatre  as  early  as  ten  o'clock,  but  couldn't 
get  a  thing,"  said  one  of  them.  "Every  seat 
was  sold,  not  only  for  to-night,  but  far  in  ad 
vance.  It  may  be  a  month  before  I  can  get 


in." 


Sammy  had  not  disturbed  the  Colonel,  but 
for  a  long  time  had  waited  for  him  below. 
With  a  laugh  the  Colonel  held  forth  his 
hand.  "Understand  that  they've  got  a  rous 
ing  show  down  at  Daly's,"  said  he.  "I 
wanted  to  see  it,  but  there's  not  a  seat  to  be 
had  for  love  or  money.  Ah,  this  town  is  in 
fatuated  with  art.  Now  look  here,  don't  you 
thank  me  that  Groggin  is  alive.  I  didn't 
weaken,  I'll  tell  you  that.  The  man  that 
weakens  is  a  fool.  And  now,  my  boy,  I've 
got  a  delicate  commission  for  you.  Go  to 
your  Aunt  Margaret  and  tell  her  I  lied  about 
being  married.  Talk  as  you  never  talked 
before  in  your  life." 

"I  told  her  just  now,  dad;  didn't  think  it  a 
violation  of  confidence  now,  you  know." 

"Hah,  you  did?  And  what  did  she  say? 
Come,  out  with  it.  Everybody's  gazing  at 
us.  Let's  go  out  here.  Now,  what  did  she 

353 


An  American  in  New  York 

say?"  he  repeated  when  they  had  gone  out 
upon  the  sidewalk. 

"Cried,  dad;  broke  down  and  cried." 

"Huh.     Where  is  she  now?" 

"In  her  apartments." 

"Lead  me  there." 


Sammy  rapped  on  the  door.  It  was  opened 
by  Imogene.  The  Colonel  kissed  her.  Mar 
garet  was  reclining  on  a  sofa.  "Go  out,  you 
two,"  said  the  Colonel.  They  went  out, 
Sammy  and  the  girl.  Margaret  did  not  look 
at  him;  she  did  not  speak.  Her  face  was  half 
hidden  in  a  pillow.  Her  eyes  were  closed. 
The  Colonel  sat  down  beside  her. 

"How  could  you  have  done  that?"  she 
sobbed. 

"Oh,  because  I  thought  the  world  would 
be  better  with  him  out  of  it." 

"I  don't  mean  that.  How  could  you  have 
deceived  me?" 

"I — I  started  in  with  lying  and  couldn't 
stop.  Maybe  you  don't  know  how  hard  it 
is  to  stop  when  once  you  begin.  It's  like  go 
ing  down  Pike's  Peak  on  a  sled.  I  found  in 
you  a  companion  before  I  knew  it,  Margaret. 

354 


An  American  in  New  York 

It  was  beautiful — free,  and  I  didn't  want  to 
spoil  it.  How  new  it  was,  such  a  compan 
ion — and  you  must  know  that  women  of  the 
world  are  trying  all  the  time  to  work  a  man 
in  my  position — I  beg  your  pardon,  I  knew 
you  wouldn't.  But  I  loved  your  companion 
ship.  And  now  can  you  forgive  a  fool  suf 
ficiently  to  love  him  and  to  marry  him  ?  Can 
you?" 

She  strove  to  dry  her  eyes ;  she  sat  up  and 
looked  at  him.  "You  will  not  want  to  marry 
me  when  I  have  told  you  something,"  she 
said.  "I  am  a  wicked  woman." 

"Prove  it,"  he  demanded,  attempting  to 
take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  it  away  from 
him. 

"I  can  prove  it,  and  before  I  do — before  I 
drive  you  away,  I  must  thank  you  for  be 
ing — being  the  noblest  man  in  the  world,  for 
sending  me  a  fortune  that  you  could  just  as 
easily  have  kept  for  yourself." 

"I'm  not  gone.  I  stay  to  call  for  the  proof 
that  you  are  a  wicked  woman." 

"You  shall  have  the  proof.  I  thought  you 
were  married,  but  I  loved  you.  I  didn't  want 
to  wrong  any  one,  but  I  loved  you.  I  despised 
myself,  but  I  loved  you,  and  I  went  away  to 

355 


An  American  in  New  York 

summon  strength,  but  it  would  not  come.  No, 
it  wouldn't,  and — and  I  would  have  gone 
away  with  you — would  have  given  up  my  life 
here  and  gone  with  you  because  I  loved  you. 
Lawless,  wicked,  and,  oh,  so  shameful." 

As  she  bowed  low  he  bent  over  her. 
"Other  half  of  my  vagabond  soul,"  he  said, 
"you  are  my  resurrection  and  my  light.  In 
your  eye  is  the  constant  proof  of  God;  and  if 
you  loved,  it  was  heaven-sent.  And  what 
man  shall  sit  as  a  judge!  Sam — Imogene, 


come  here." 


[THE  END.] 


356 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


